


Too Little, Too Late

by Arianna



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Strong Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 55,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianna/pseuds/Arianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the dissertation fiasco, Blair believes he has little left that means anything in his life ... until Orvelle Wallace tosses him a lifeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Little, Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks go to Janet, for her great story concept, and to Annie (Trislindsay) and StarWatcher, for their beta.
> 
> This story first appeared in My Mongoose Ezine, in March, 2007.

Surreal. So, so surreal. Caught in a headlock, Jim treating him like a kid. Everyone singing an odd, childish song with gleeful abandon, but he could feel the tension in the air, the forced cheerfulness – all of them wanting a happy ending and doing their best, as if wishes and good intentions could be enough. He wanted to play along and wished desperately he could believe, if only for these few moments, that it could all be so easy, so light-hearted and simple. But there was no going back. No way to pretend it was all going to work out fine. There was no way to salvage what they’d all had as if the past few days had never happened. Oh, the friendships could last, would last, or he hoped they would. God, he loved them for this, for trying to believe it could be made right and for so clearly wanting to make him whole again.

But it was impossible.

The futility of it all washed over him, robbing him of strength and breath; the aching poignancy of the moment threatened to unman him. Unequal to the charade, too enervated by sleepless nights and painful endings to pretend, he could not sustain the role ascribed to him or continue the mock struggle to escape Jim’s playful embrace. Salt burned in his eyes and he sagged to his knees, breaking Jim’s grip. Head bowed, shaking with sorrow, he struggled against his unraveling control and took shuddering breaths to contain too rampant emotion.

The singing voices faltered and went silent, leaving only tension in the air. Jim gripped his shoulder, and his voice was uncertain, strained, as he rasped, “Sandburg? You okay?”

Blinking to clear his eyes, he swiped at his nose and let out a long, slow breath. When he lifted his head, his gaze sought Simon and then the others. All but Jim. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “I love you, all of you. And … and I’m grateful for … for your support; for your kindness in trying so hard to make me believe I could have a future here, with you. But I think, deep down, we all know it’s impossible.”

His voice cracked and, to buy time, he pushed himself up onto his feet and raked his hair back from his face. Acutely conscious that Jim was still gripping his shoulder, striving for dignity and wishing he had the energy to conjure a reassuring smile, he went on into the awkward, wretched silence, “I won’t ever forget this, though, and even if I can’t be here anymore, I hope you know how much I respect and admire all of you. But … but I don’t belong here now. The time has come for me to move on.”

“Oh, Sandy,” Megan sighed.

“Blair …” Simon began, but his voice caught and his lips thinned as his gaze dropped away.

Stepping forward, away from Jim’s grip, he laid his hand on Simon’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said soothingly. “It means so much that you wanted to help, but your job is hard enough – you don’t need a pariah on your team. You don’t owe me anything, Simon.” Turning his head, not quite looking at Jim but including him, “None of you do. It was a great ride, but it’s over.”

“What are you going to do, Blair?” Joel asked.

“I don’t know yet, but I’ve got options,” he replied. “I … I just need some time to think about next steps, that’s all.”

Hesitantly, her expression stricken, his mother approached. For her, he found a small, reassuring smile as he lifted his arm and drew her close to his side. Shaking his head, he chided, “Nice try, Mom, but we both know how you really feel about the idea of me being a cop.”

She laughed shakily, close to tears. “I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she whispered.

“I know,” he murmured. “But when there’s no going back, we have to move forward, right? Nobody died, life goes on, and there are always possibilities. Change isn’t necessarily bad.”

She sniffed and nodded, but seemed bereft of words. Everyone seemed lost for words and, though it was true that nobody had died, the atmosphere was distinctly funereal.

He dreaded it, but he had to face Jim. Looking back over his shoulder, he lifted his gaze to his friend’s eyes and the sorrow he saw there was devastating. But he couldn’t deal with that in front of everyone. Swallowing hard, he said as evenly as he could manage, “C’mon, man, I’ll take you home.” For a moment, he thought Jim might argue, but then his friend simply bowed his head and nodded.

Before he could move off through the crowd, Simon covered his hand. “You need anything, you got it. Understand?”

He nodded, squeezed Simon’s shoulder, and then shepherded his mother past his friends, shaking hands and mutely hugging people as he passed. Finally, they made it to the hall, Jim having picked up his carryall and limping wordlessly behind them. Jim looked like he was about to collapse, so Blair matter-of-factly took his bag, and lightly gripped his arm to lend some support.

Silence hung over them like a shroud and Blair was thankful that the elevator came quickly. Stepping inside, he pushed the button for the basement, and then shifted quickly to the back of the car, his gaze fixed on the floor so he wouldn’t have to see the contempt and disgust in the eyes of everyone who entered at each subsequent stop. He could feel his mother trembling beside him, and Jim’s tense rigidity at his other shoulder as they all endured the slow minutes until they could escape into the underground garage.

When they reached his car, Naomi squeezed into the back, and he helped Jim slide stiffly into the passenger seat. As he drove out of the garage, knowing it was for the last time, his heart twisted with overwhelming grief.

Nobody spoke during the drive to the loft, but he heard his mother quietly sniffling in the back seat and, in the rearview mirror, saw her dabbing at her eyes. Jim stared stonily out the side window and unconsciously rubbed his aching leg. When they got home, Blair was glad there was a parking spot close to the entrance, and he helped them both out of the small car.

“Lean on me,” he said quietly, putting his arm around Jim’s waist. Blair was glad his friend didn’t resist the help, because Jim’s pallor and the lines of pain etched around his mouth and eyes made it clear that he’d pushed too hard that day and had already been on his feet too long.

His mother hustled ahead to hold the heavy exterior door open for them and then she slid past to push the elevator button. Again, they rode in silence, avoiding one another’s eyes.

Inside the apartment, Blair took one look at the long flight of steps up to the bed and shook his head. No way could Jim get up there, not until he’d rested and maybe taken something to help ease his pain. He steered Jim toward the sofa and, once he’d slipped his partner’s jacket off his shoulders, helped him lie down and carefully lifted his legs. Behind him, he heard Naomi put the kettle on to boil before she disappeared into his bedroom.

“You get something from the hospital for the pain?” he asked softly.

“In my coat pocket.” Jim’s voice was flat, his eyes already closed.

Blair went to the kitchen, got a glass of water and returned to the living room. Retrieving the small vial of medication from Jim’s coat pocket, he read the directions and shook out two tablets. “Here you go,” he offered, and then supported Jim’s head while he washed down the pills. Once Jim settled with a deep sigh, he unfolded the afghan and layered it over his friend. “Try to sleep,” he counseled.

After he hung up their jackets, he went into the kitchen to make tea for Naomi, who he could hear speaking on the phone in his room. Vaguely wondering who she was talking to, he pulled a beer from the fridge and wandered out to the balcony to get some air.

Staring blindly over the city toward the water, he wondered what he was going to do. He felt … shell-shocked, muddled by emotional overload and physical exhaustion, too overwhelmed to think clearly. He still had the sense of being captured in a surreal, anguished dream that he couldn’t seem to wake from. With a sigh, he reflected that Jim was hurting, too – both physically and emotionally – and Blair was pretty sure his partner would be feeling rejected by his decision that afternoon. His mother was falling apart, the events of the last week more harshly real than her endless search for enlightenment. Rubbing his temple, he closed his eyes against his awareness that they both felt bad, very bad, about everything that had happened. He just didn’t know how to help them feel any better about what could never be undone.

Hard to help them when he felt like such a basket-case himself.

He needed space and quiet, to think. And he badly needed something to do with his life, some place to be, something to contribute to that mattered, to fill the gaps left in his life by the loss of Rainier and the PD, and to give him an income. Though he knew with utter certainty that he had to move out of the loft, he didn’t know where to go. He really didn’t want to leave Cascade because he hoped, despite everything, that he and Jim could remain good friends. If he didn’t stay in the city, he was pretty sure he’d lose the friendship, too, and the thought of losing Jim, of never spending time with him, never being close to him again, damned near killed him.

His throat tightened with emotions that he fought hard to contain. He’d kept a grip for months now, never giving away by look, gesture, or word, how his feelings for Jim had changed after the fountain. At first, he’d thought it was all just a weird emotional echo of the merging of their souls – for that’s what had happened in the jungle, what had brought him back when he’d been stone cold dead. The warmth, life, energy, vibrancy and love in Jim’s soul had revived him.

Jim had to know that, right? Grimacing, he wondered if, maybe, _because_ it was so very personal, so intimate, Jim just couldn’t bring himself to ever discuss it. But their souls _had_ merged. Blair suspected that, in some ways, their souls had remained entwined, a part of one another. No way to prove that, though; and the way they’d been at each other’s throats, irritable and off-balance ever since he’d awakened in the hospital, he often doubted his own certainty.

About the only thing he knew for sure was that, ever since, he’d been helplessly in love with Jim Ellison.

He’d thought it a temporary aberration, and had been sure the unexpected and unsettling emotions would fade. But far from diminishing over time, his love had only grown stronger until it had become an ever-constant awareness that half drove him crazy. Somehow, things had been so much simpler when he’d only loved Jim like a brother and the best friend he’d ever have.

Not that he wanted in any way to diminish that platonic love because it was still there, too. The ‘I’d gladly die for you’ joyful devotion that had held him by Jim’s side for years was something unique in his existence and he didn’t know anyone else who’d ever felt that deeply for a friend. But this new love was an aching and relentless anguish that could never be assuaged. Still, he’d rather live with the pain than never be near Jim again. He had it so bad that he wasn’t sure he could even live without Jim. Life would lose all luster and meaning, all purpose; life just wouldn’t be _worth_ living without Jim.

All those layers of love had been his shield when he’d stepped up to that microphone last week and gave up everything of substance that he was – his career, his credibility, his reputation for integrity, his daily work with Jim and even his home. He’d made the greatest ritual sacrifice in his power to save Jim, to give him back his life and privacy, to end his anger and grief and helplessness at being made to feel like a freak of nature. Nothing else would have served in those urgent, critical hours when the Iceman was stalking Jim and his charge. Nothing else would have restored the balance for Jim in time to make any real difference.

He didn’t regret his decision, though he’d felt the deep pain of that sacrifice in the past week as he’d boxed up his life, severed one connection after another with people he cared a great deal about at Rainier and Major Crime, and abandoned the work he loved, both at the university and at the PD. Given the choice to undo what was done, he’d choose the same action again for all kinds of reasons including professional ethics and integrity – but, mostly, because of love.

He was going to need that shield when he finally worked up the courage to tell Jim he had to move out, at least for awhile, until the heat of the media’s attention finally cooled. But first he had to figure out where to go. Only he couldn’t think straight. Awash in churning, uncharted rapids, barely keeping his head above water, he didn’t have a clue about where the river was taking him – and he hadn’t had a spare moment to assess the shoreline to see if he could climb out onto dry, stable, safe ground. He had to keep himself afloat for his sake and for Jim’s – and even for Naomi’s. If, overwhelmed by all that had happened, he metaphorically drowned, he knew they’d never recover. She wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt. And Jim’s innate integrity – over staying silent about the truth – would eat him alive.

Looking up at the sky, he searched the endless blue and then closed his eyes. In his heart, he wished for respite, for some measure of peace in the chaos. He needed a sign that would lead him toward a place to be, at least for a space of time, and something meaningful, purposeful, to do.

The sound of the door sliding open startled him. Turning, he saw Naomi step out to join him, her arms crossed to ward off the chill of the air, and a cup of hot tea steaming in one hand. He smiled and lifted an arm. With a poignant look of gratitude, she accepted the invitation, her arm circling his waist as he drew her close.

For a moment they both stood quietly, looking out at the bay, and then she said, “I have to go. You and Jim need some time and privacy. I’ve made arrangements for a flight in a couple hours, to go back to Los Angeles.”

He let out a slow breath and nodded. While he wished he could urge her to stay, he and Jim both needed to be able to talk without anyone else present. “Thank you.” Turning to her, he kissed her cheek. “I love you, Mom,” he affirmed. “Believe me when I say that nothing in this world will ever change that.”

Tears welled in her eyes and she pressed her trembling lips together tightly as she nodded. “I believe you,” she finally managed to choke out brokenly. “I’m just so, so sorry.”

“I know,” he replied, tightening his grip around her shoulders. “But things will work out, you’ll see. Things’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

“I love you, Blair,” she whispered. “More than life. More than anything. And I _believe_ in you. You … you’ve always been special. You have a light inside. I do know that, eventually, things will work out for you.” She sighed heavily and sniffed. “I just wish I hadn’t made your road harder than it needed to be.”

“Well, like I said the other day, nothing happens without a reason. There’s always a purpose,” he said gently. “And so I have to think that this was all meant to happen, or something equally as … as demanding of change in my life. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right? I’m a long way from being dead, Mom. I still have so much that is good, like my Masters – that has to be worth something. And lots of skills I’ve picked up along the way. Finding work won’t be a problem. I just need some time to think about what I really want to do with my life now.”

“Will you and Jim be okay?” she asked very softly, with a quick glance over her shoulder.

“I hope so,” he said. “We’ve been through a lot over the years; I hope we’ll be able to get through this, too.”

“Can he … can he manage at work without your help?” she asked, gnawing anxiously at her lip. “I can’t bear the thought that what I did could put his life at risk.”

He looked away and gave a small shrug. But then he nodded. “He’ll be okay. He’s got a really good handle on his senses. Really hasn’t needed me for months now. Been working more without me than with me. And I’ll be around if he ever does need me; that won’t change.”

She nodded, wanting to believe him. Then, reluctantly, she murmured, “Well, I guess I’d better call a cab.”

“Oh, hey, no,” he said quickly. “I’ll drive you, no problem. Honest. But you’re right. If you’re packed and ready, we should go.”

Jim appeared to be asleep when they went inside and Blair couldn’t tell if he was faking or not. So he left a note on the coffee table to say where he’d gone and that he’d be back soon. And then they quietly let themselves out of the apartment.

**

Naomi insisted that he drop her at the curb and not bother to park and go inside with her. Relieved, achingly weary, he was glad to accept. She hugged him tight, cupped his cheek with her hand and tenderly kissed his brow. And then she was gone.

He wondered if it would be another year before he saw her again.

Not yet ready to go home, he drove to the harbor where he walked slowly along the boardwalk, found a bench and sat down. Huddling in his jacket against the brisk, salt-scented wind, he stared out at the water and tried to sort out the fragments of his life.

So much had so fundamentally changed in such a short time. Two weeks ago, he’s been a grad student finishing up his dissertation, a teaching fellow with a pretty solid reputation, and Jim’s backup on the job. Two weeks ago, he’d thought … well, he’d thought they were doing okay. Things had been rocky for awhile even before Alex had turned their lives upside down, but they’d kept going and things had even seemed to be getting better again. Oh, not as easy, as comfortable, as their friendship had been a year ago, maybe, but solid.

And then it had all fallen apart.

Reflecting upon the last time he and Jim had walked along the harbor, Blair’s fists clenched and he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets as he remembered how badly Jim’s distrust of him had hurt. If his friend had punched him in the gut, it would have been less painful. Pressing his lips together, bowing his head, he recalled how he’d tried to believe that it was just shock and so very understandable that Jim had reacted with anger and distrust. It was his usual reaction when he was threatened or blindsided, and he had every reason to be upset. Every reason. But after all the years they’d been together, Jim’s quick assumption that the release of the dissertation had been an act of deliberate betrayal had left him reeling.

Blair had thought their relationship was stronger than that; that Jim would know – _had_ to know – he’d never do such a thing, never betray Jim that way. But, as the hours and the days had passed, Jim hadn’t calmed down. Nor did he retreat from his initial anger and assumptions of betrayal, even after he knew without doubt that it had all been an accident, and that it had been Naomi who had inadvertently let the genie out of the bottle.

Events had escalated into chaos and Jim had behaved as if the media interference at the rally and the attack the next day that left Simon and Megan so seriously injured – an attack that would never have happened if Jim had captured the assassin the night before – was all Blair’s fault. And, agreeing with him, Blair certainly blamed himself. Oh, he hadn’t deliberately set all the events in motion, but he had left Jim’s name in the paper when he should never have referred to his ‘subject’ by name.

Bleakly, he looked out again at the water, at the barges and container ships slowly passing to and from the docks. He’d been stupid to use Jim’s name in the draft but he’d just never imagined that anyone else, except Jim himself, would ever see that document. He’d just thought it would be easier for Jim to read if he wasn’t cast so dispassionately as ‘the subject’, wouldn’t feel so much like a lab rat. As he’d told Jim, he would have found a way to ensure Jim’s identity wouldn’t be compromised in the final document, but Jim hadn’t cared about his good intentions, only the actuality of what had happened. And, sighing, he had to agree that good intentions hadn’t been enough, not nearly enough, not when balanced against all the terrible things that had happened.

Throughout it all, Jim hadn’t been open to talking about what they might do to mitigate the leak of the document, or how they might respond to the media’s hysterical demands for information and confirmation. Yeah, sure, Jim had been consumed by the need to stop Zeller, fair enough. But … but it had felt like Jim loathed him, loathed the sight of him. Couldn’t stand to be near him and, ultimately, wanted nothing more to do with him. Wanted him to just go away. Permanently go away.

Even after Jim had understood that it had been an accident, that Blair hadn’t acted out of ulterior and personal motives of greed and a desire for fame, Jim had only been able to focus on how he was now seen as a freak, and that his father and brother were upset. Jim had just wanted to go back to the way things had been before … before they’d ever met. Jim had said it was over, that it was time to let go and move on, and then Jim had stormed out of the loft because, all too evidently, Jim couldn’t stand to remain in the same room with him.

Had he deserved that? He could understand the anger. And though he regretted it profoundly, he could even understand Jim’s despair at feeling like a freak. Despite all their years together, he’d never been able to get Jim to see that he wasn’t a freak but a miracle – a wondrous, awesome miracle. Blair’s throat thickened and his eyes stung as he sat despondently by the water. He couldn’t understand and couldn’t get past the fact that their friendship and all those years of support had, in the end, apparently counted for nothing with Jim. As far as Jim had been concerned, it seemed he was disposable, something to be discarded … and all they had so painstakingly achieved appeared meaningless to his friend. Very clearly, Jim wished none of it had ever transpired; if Jim could have turned back the clock so that his senses had never come online and he’d never met Blair, he would have done so, in a heartbeat.

Blair drew a shuddering breath. Curling forward against the anguish he felt, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes. He couldn’t get past that. God, it hurt. Worse than dying had hurt. Sure, later when the heat was off and Jim’s security had been restored, Jim had told him he was a great friend, as well as the best partner, and that he had helped Jim a lot. But when the going was tough, when the pressure was still on, none of that had mattered a damn.

The most important person in his life, the man he loved with every atom of his being, hadn’t cared enough about him to want to even try to work things out together. Jim had only wanted him gone, as if he’d never been. Stupid, but it even hurt that Jim had cared more about what his father and Steven had thought during those terrible days, though Jim had been estranged from them both for most of his life, than Jim had cared about him. Despite the years of being together and all they’d shared and been through, William and Steven’s concerns had meant more to Jim than having Blair in his life.

Tears leaked past his lashes and he raised a hand to cover his trembling lips, to hold the sob back. He had to face it, accept it. Jim might appreciate him, what he’d done both last week and during the past years, but Jim didn’t love him. Not as a brother of sorts; not even as a friend. Jim didn’t love him and never had, never would. What hurt most of all was the inescapable fact that Jim didn’t trust him, not when the chips were down and the world had gone crazy. Jim didn’t know with unshakeable certainty that Blair would never, ever, betray him. If Jim had known that, had believed in him, they could have attacked the problem together and decided how to fix it. But Jim had shut him out.

Leaning back against the bench, trembling with misery, Blair struggled to overcome his emotions. If he got mired in the muck of his devastation, he wouldn’t be able to function at all, let alone face all that still had to be done. But grief filled every crevice of his being, muffling his ability to think, sapping his energy. Life without Jim would be empty, devoid of meaning. Desperately, he struggled against the grim truth that it was already over. Whether he stayed or left, nothing could ever be the same again. He could never pretend that he mattered in Jim’s life. He was holding onto the hope that they could still be friends because he feared that when he left, he wouldn’t want to face life at all; without their friendship, he truly would have nothing of meaning in his life.

Staring at the water, he found himself thinking how easy it would be to slip into its silence, to let everything go, to give up the struggle to breathe. What was the point of going on? His mother was flying back to her own life. Jim … Jim didn’t love him, didn’t need him – hell, it was all over, wasn’t it? He had no home, no work, no life and he was nothing more than an albatross now, an ever-present danger to Jim’s security if he tried to hold onto even a shred of what they’d had. He could just close his eyes and nothing would hurt anymore. The need to escape the pain, the desire for oblivion, and his craving for the peace the water promised were very nearly overpowering. Though his spirit rebelled against the virulent self-pity, the gently lapping waves were mesmerizing and so … so tempting.

Pressing his eyes closed, gripping the bench in a physical effort to hold on, to resist the allure of that shimmering peace, he whispered brokenly to the Universe, “Help me. Please. I’m so tired and, and scared. I … I can’t do it all myself. Please.”

The sudden ringing of his cell phone shattered the powerful spell the water was weaving, and he jerked back from the edge into awareness of the world around him. Trembling at having been so close to losing his grip, to giving up, he hastily pulled the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “Hello?” he answered, thinking it was probably Jim wondering where he was.

 _“Blair? It’s Orvelle. Orvelle Wallace.”_

“Orvelle,” he exclaimed softly, straightening. “Hey, how are you?”

 _“I wondered if you might have time to get together. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”_

Mystified by the request, Blair tried to wrap his head around the surprise of hearing from Wallace. “Uh, sure,” he stammered. “When?”

 _“Would you have time to meet now? At the Coffee Mill restaurant near the stadium?”_

“Um, yeah; it’ll take me about twenty minutes to get there,” he replied. Frowning, he asked, “What’s wrong? Do you need to talk to Jim?”

 _“No, I need to talk to you. I’ll explain when I see you.”_

“Okay, man. Twenty minutes. The Coffee Mill. I’ll be there.”

Shoving the phone back into his pocket, Blair scrubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair before standing to walk to his car. He was perplexed by the unexpected call and couldn’t imagine what would cause Orvelle to want to see him so urgently. Hell, these days, most people would cross the street to avoid seeing him or talking to him. Shivering at the thought of how enthralled he’d been moments before by the peace the water offered, he told himself it really didn’t matter what Orvelle wanted. At the very least he was being offered a timely and very much-needed distraction, a reason to keep moving and breathing. Beyond that, Orvelle had become a good friend, one he treasured. How many guys ever got to know their childhood heroes, after all? And how many were lucky enough to find that those people really were _heroes_? If there was anything he could do for the man, he’d be glad to render assistance.

Quickening his pace, he hoped whatever the problem was it _would_ be something he could help with, a lifeline he could cling to. God, he badly needed to be able to help someone with something, if only to justify his continued existence on earth.

**

Orvelle was already waiting in a booth in the far corner next to the window, away from the other mid-afternoon seekers of caffeine in the bright coffee shop. The older man waved and Blair nodded in acknowledgement, but otherwise kept his head down as he hastened through the restaurant. Even so, he heard people whisper and saw some pointing as he went by, and he could only hope his few minutes of infamy on national television would soon be forgotten.

He’d barely slipped into the booth opposite the coach when the waitress appeared to refill Orvelle’s cup and take his order. Not hungry, needing the stimulation, he decided on coffee, black. “So, what’s up?” he asked the coach, hoping to keep the conversation focused on Orvelle and avoid any discussion of his own recent notoriety.

Wallace studied him for a moment, compassion in his eyes, and then he glanced around the restaurant, his gaze hardening to discourage those who were staring at them. Once the spectators had returned to their own business, he leaned his elbows on the table. “How’re you doing?” he asked with simple directness.

“Oh, things have been, uh, unsettled.” Blair shrugged diffidently as his gaze fell away and he toyed with the cup of coffee. So much for hoping Orvelle would ignore current events.

“Uh huh,” the coach grunted. “I saw that press conference last week and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”

Blair swallowed to moisten his dry mouth and throat, but didn’t know what to say. He settled for a tight nod and concentrated on blowing over the hot coffee before taking a sip.

“I don’t believe a word of it,” Orvelle said.

Startled, Blair’s gaze flashed up to meet his. “Uh, thanks, but –”

“But nothing,” Wallace cut in firmly. With a short shake of his head, he leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I know you and what kind of man you are. No way would you use Jim or cheat to get your PhD. And I know Jim – seen him in action.”

Blair carefully set his mug on the formica table top. “I’m sorry, but I’m really not up to talking about this,” he murmured and tried again to redirect the conversation. “What did you want to see me about, Orvelle?”

“Son, I want to talk about you. I’m _worried_ about you,” Orvelle told him solemnly, a frown of concern puckering his brow. “You were about the only one who believed in me when everyone else was ready to see me as a murderer, and you helped prove my innocence. And not so very long ago, you did your best to fight off Kincaid and his men until Jim got us loose. You’re a good, decent, brave man, and you deserve better cards than what life has recently dealt you. I want to help, if I can.”

Much to his humiliation, Blair found himself on the edge of losing it. His throat tightened and tears glazed his eyes. Of all those he knew in Cascade, all his former colleagues at Rainier, his erstwhile friends, none but those in MCU had given him the benefit of the doubt or had expressed any concern for him, and he figured they had been motivated as much by guilt as by any genuine desire to keep him around. Certainly, none had offered any help, except for Simon, and guilt had factored into that, as well. He took a shuddery breath and sniffed as he swiped away the tears before they could fall.

With a quick glance at Orvelle, he said unsteadily, “That’s good of you, Orvelle, but … but you don’t owe me anything, you know? And, and, I’m not sure what kind of help I need. But I appreciate it. I really do.”

Reaching over the table to grip his arm in support, the coach said, “Hear me out, okay? I’ve got a proposal for you. And, well, you’d be doing me a favor, too, if you’d accept.”

“What proposal?” he asked with another sniff, desperate to talk about something other than himself.

Leaning back against the seat, Orvelle replied quietly, “Not many people know this, but I’ve set up a community center for poor, mostly black, kids. There’s a basketball court in the gym, and a games room with a lounge at one end where they can just hang out. You know, to get them off the streets and away from the local gang. Give ‘em a place to be.” Leaning forward, his expression grave, he went on with urgent intensity, “I need someone I trust to run the place, teach ‘em how to play, do some counseling, maybe tutor those having trouble in school – which is probably most of ‘em. Somebody to be a kind of big brother to them, I guess. Someone who’s there when they need somebody. I’ll spend as much time as I can down there, but I just can’t be around all the time. And I mean _all the time_. These kids, well, their problems aren’t nine to five. There’s a furnished apartment on the top of the place and I’d like _you_ to live there, to be available to them if they get into trouble or need a place to go.”

Blair gaped at him. “You’d trust me to do that? I mean – would _they_ trust me? Given what ….”

“Son, I trust you with my life, and there ain’t nobody down there that hasn’t made some mistakes,” Orvelle said with wry warmth. “These kids need to see that making mistakes, even big ones, aren’t the end of the world. That they can learn and go on, not just give up.” He paused, his intelligent eyes holding Blair’s. “I’m not saying I believe you made any mistakes. I figure you did what you had to do to protect your best friend. But I guess not a lot of people will know that, huh? And you don’t even want them to know it, or what was the point? And I don’t expect you to stay there forever; I know you got your own life to live. But, well, I thought maybe as a temporary arrangement, maybe six months or a year? It would be more than those kids have now, an’ maybe, well, maybe you could use the time to think about where you go from here.”

Blair sat back and stared sightlessly out of the window as he let the possibility of what Orvelle was offering him sink in. Less than an hour before, he’d been wishing desperately for some idea of where to go, needing a place to be, work to do that was meaningful. Orvelle was offering him everything he could have hoped for. Slowly, he nodded. He could do this. The work would be busy and keep him from thinking about his own problems. A sad smile ghosted over his lips. A readymade apartment was immediately available, so he could move out of the loft, like he knew he had to do, however much he wished he could stay.

His gaze returning to Orvelle’s earnest scrutiny, he nodded again. “You believe in angels? ‘Cause you sure work miracles, man,” he said with a sense of awe, and then added more briskly, “I accept. And I’m really grateful. This is exactly what I needed right now. _Everything_ I needed. Thank you.”

A relieved smile lit the older man’s face. “Good, I was hoping you’d say that. Let’s go over there now and I can show you around and give you the keys.”

“All right,” Blair agreed, deciding to act before he could falter and change his mind. “Let’s do it.”

**

The new, as yet unopened, Community Center was an old, broken-down gym located in the middle of a block in an inner-city neighborhood. The peeling paint on the solid timber walls was worn and faded, but a fresh coat would quickly spruce it up. The sidewalks were cracked and there were tenements above the shops and businesses that lined the street. As he parked behind Orvelle, Blair glanced at the small businesses that were ubiquitous in such tawdry neighborhoods: a bakery, a pawnshop, an adult movie theatre, a delicatessen, a Chinese restaurant, a convenience store, and a pizza place. Kids, mostly African-American, but some with evident Hispanic roots, loitered in small groups, leaning on buildings and against wooden telephone poles or the steel supports of the street lights.

“Hey, man, when’s the place opening up?” one tall, thin kid called to Orvelle while he was unlocking the door.

Orvelle looked to Blair, who replied, “In the next day or so, soon as I get set up inside. My name’s Blair Sandburg and I’m looking forward to getting to know you.”

“Cool,” the teenager drawled laconically, but he grinned and nodded, giving Blair a hopeful feeling that the local kids were looking forward to having this new place to hang out.

Inside, Orvelle flicked on the lights and showed Blair around. The whole place smelled of old sweat and badly needed some basic restoration, but paint and elbow grease would work wonders. As he followed Orvelle through the building, Blair noted the new, sturdy furniture in the large games room that contained a ping-pong table, several card tables and metal folding chairs, shelves full of board and card games, a sink, fridge and microwave and, at the far end, a cluster of chairs and sofas. The walls were bare and dismal, but some bright posters would easily enliven the space. Further along the cement hall, there were showers and dressing rooms for both girls and boys, and a laundry room with industrial-sized washer and dryer as well as a large quantity of towels. Orvelle ushered him into the spacious gym. The old, parquet flooring was chipped and grungy, but the basketball hoops, electronic score display high on the wall, and taped-on blue and red court lines were new. The equipment supply room in the corner was already well stocked with soccer, volleyballs and basketballs, weights, badminton rackets and birdies, nets and related sports gear.

“Looks good,” Blair approved, winning a smile from the older man.

Orvelle led him back through the building to the entry where a steep flight of steps led up one side of the building to the second floor. Upstairs, beyond a plain, locked door, the apartment wasn’t fancy, but it was clean and had already been painted and the plumbing modernized. No bathtub, but the shower was a generous size. New appliances gleamed in the small kitchen, and the furniture in the living room and bedroom looked comfortable. The blues and greens Orvelle had chosen for the decorating were cool and soothing. There was a television, a good quality sound system, and everything he could need, from towels and sheets to dishes, cutlery, and pots and pans; even an empty bookcase for his collection.

“This is great,” he said appreciatively. Looking up at Orville, he added, “If you can supply the paint, I’ll organize the kids into work crews to clean up the front and the inside.”

“Consider it done,” Wallace agreed with a nod. “I’ll have it and the other supplies you’ll need delivered tomorrow morning. And I’ll leave the contract for you on the kitchen counter. Along with the apartment, the job pays four thousand a month. I’ve already taken care of insurance and legal liability issues with my lawyer and accountant.”

Listening, thinking with no little relief that the pay was more than reasonable, Blair rubbed his mouth as he took another look around. “Jim’s recovering from being shot in the leg. He’s doing pretty good, but I want to be sure he can manage on his own before I move in here.”

Laying a hand on his shoulder, Orvelle nodded. “I understand. The place is here when you’re ready. I appreciate you agreeing to do this, Blair.”

“Oh, hey, no, I’m the one thanking you,” Blair replied stoutly. He blew a long breath, nodded resolutely to himself, and then turned to lead the way back downstairs. Outside, he accepted a set of keys, shook Orvelle’s hand, waved at the kids, and then got into his car to head back to the loft.

On the way, he stopped at the grocery store to stock up on everything Jim would need for the next week or so, until he could easily get around again on his own. When he got home, he sat in the car for several minutes, working himself up to facing Jim and saying what had to be said.

**

Blair let himself in as quietly as he could, given he was encumbered with several grocery bags, but he saw immediately that Jim was sitting up with his leg propped on a cushion on the coffee table, watching something on television. His friend looked pale, haggard and grouchy. Yep, definitely not a happy sentinel. “Hey,” he said, restraining the urge to sigh, as he hefted the bags to the counter. “How’s your leg?”

“Fine.”

“Uh huh,” Blair grunted. Pulling off his jacket, he hung it up and asked, “You checked your pain dial lately?”

“I said I’m fine.”

“O-kay,” he replied and busied himself putting things away. That chore completed, he made a quick tuna casserole and put it into the oven to bake. Once that was done, he made a salad to go with it.

And then … he’d run out of things to do.

Other than pack.

He thought longingly of a cool beer, but plugged in the kettle, instead. Tea would be much more … calming. And Jim couldn’t drink beer while he was taking the pain meds. “You want tea, coffee, juice, water?” he called quietly.

“I’m fine.”

Well, this was going well. He made himself a mug of tea and couldn’t put it off any longer. When he wandered into the living room and sat on the love seat, Jim turned off the television. “You finished avoiding me?” Jim asked tightly.

His brows lifting, Blair blew on the hot liquid and nodded. “You ready to talk?” he countered.

Jim’s face was expressionless, his eyes giving nothing away as he studied Blair for a long moment. But then the chill thawed and sorrow filled his eyes. “You look like shit, Chief,” he muttered.

Huffing a hollow, humorless laugh, Blair raked his hair back off his face and sank against the cushion. “You’re not looking all that terrific, yourself,” he replied. “Seriously, how’s the leg?”

Jim sighed and rubbed it. “Not bad,” he allowed. “Better than earlier.”

“You know why I had to turn down Simon’s offer, right?” Blair went on carefully.

“Yeah,” Jim sighed and scraped his face with his palms. “Credibility issues. The media. Carrying a weapon.”

“You gonna be okay on your own?”

“I heard you tell Naomi I would be, so I guess so,” Jim said, sounding forlorn. “Guess I’ll have to be.”

Grimacing, Blair shook his head. The last thing he needed was for Jim to have a crisis of confidence because that could get him killed. But he also knew that, as good as Jim’s control of his senses was, he still needed backup to keep him focused and out of trouble. No way could he leave with Jim believing he could go it alone.

Though it took a supreme effort of will to sound matter of fact and not reveal his abject grief that he could no longer be the partner Jim needed, he forced a wry smile and replied with cool objectivity, “You’ll be fine. You’ve been working without me most of the time now for months. But if you want, I can brief Simon and whoever else you want – Joel, maybe? – on how to help you focus and … and what to do if you zone. But that shouldn’t happen often, if at all, providing you don’t push yourself to the max, working ‘round the clock. You’ve gotten good at anchoring one sense with another. Just, uh, just remember you _need_ backup, Jim. Don’t go all lone wolf, okay?”

Jim nodded, his gaze hooded. “Yeah, okay, you’re right. I’ve, uh, learned a lot in the last few years, Chief, and not just about my senses.” He hesitated and then met Blair’s steady gaze. “I’ve learned to count on having a partner I can trust and rely on without question. I won’t forget that anytime soon.”

Nearly undone by the emotions that surged through him and tightened in his chest, Blair swiftly looked away. God, it meant so much, too much, to hear those words and it hurt so damned bad at the same time. If only … if only Jim had ….

But he forced the thoughts away before his regret and anger that it hadn’t had to end like this overwhelmed him. What happened hadn’t been Jim’s fault or, at least, not all Jim’s fault. He’d written the paper that had blown his world apart, and he had to live with that. Silence fell between them as Blair sipped his tea. When it grew to be uncomfortable, needing to just finish what had to be done, he murmured, “You figure out the rest of it?”

“Rest of it?” Jim frowned. “What rest of it?”

“That I can’t stay here,” Blair replied very quietly. “That the media and a whole lot of other people would wonder why I was still here, given what I did.”

Astonished confusion filled Jim’s face and, briefly, he was rendered speechless. And then he exclaimed, “You’re moving out? When? Where? Sandburg, what the hell are you going to do?”

His gaze falling away, Blair gave a small shrug. “I’ll be okay. I’ve got a job and a place to live, temporarily, at least. Until … well, until I make longer term plans.”

“Just like that?” Jim asked, anger seeping into his voice. “Without talking to me about it, you made all these plans? What job? Slinging hash in some diner?”

Blair stiffened defensively at the tone. “I’ve got skills, man. What did you think? That I’d just sit around here and sponge off you the rest of my life? C’mon, Jim. Get real. I’m nearly thirty years old and I’ve been supporting myself for a long time. Of course, I got a job.”

When Jim just glared at him, the leash he held on his own anger slipped. “As far as talking to you about it, what’s to discuss? It’s a little too late, don’t you think?” he argued. “I mean, you didn’t want to talk when there was maybe something we could have done ….” Fiercely reining in his emotions, he swallowed the accusations before they got out of hand. He didn’t want to do this; didn’t want to let the anger he’d buried swamp him. And he sure couldn’t afford to let the pain get out of control. Lifting his hands for peace, he said more evenly, “You don’t owe me anything, okay? I can take care of myself. I’ll … I’ll be staying in the city so you can always reach me if you need to.”

“So that’s it, huh?” Jim grunted, turning his face away and crossing his arms. “When are you going?”

“I’ll stay until you’re okay to be on your own.”

“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” he growled. “I’ve been taking care of myself a lot longer than you have.”

Blair winced but he was too wrung out to debate the issue. Standing, he took his empty mug to the kitchen, rinsed it out and put it in the dishwasher. And then he went to his room to start packing. Behind him, Jim clicked the television back on.

An hour later, Blair took the casserole from the oven and served up their dinner. But neither was hungry and both mostly just picked at their food.

“You okay for money?” Jim asked, breaking the brittle silence.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “My student loans are under control and, well, since I had the fellowship and wasn’t really doing any active research for the past year, I didn’t have any outstanding grants. I’m okay.”

“You keep saying that,” Jim grated as he pushed his plate away and leaned his elbows on the table. “But, after what’s happened, what you did, how can you be ‘okay’?”

Standing, Blair gathered up their plates. “I did what I had to do,” he replied wearily as he moved into the kitchen. “I’m not sorry about it and I don’t regret it. I’m just sorry that it all went so bad in the first place. But it did, and I fixed it, so it’s done.”

He rinsed off the plates and utensils, covered the remnants of the salad and casserole and put them into the fridge and, all the while, he was conscious of Jim watching him. Stifling a sigh, he turned around to face his friend. “You got what you wanted, Jim. Things are back to the way they were. As far as anyone knows, you’re a good cop and that’s it. Your life …” he looked around, “your home – you get it all back, just the way you said you wanted it.”

Jim’s gaze hardened and he said impatiently, “I’m getting a little tired of the martyr routine, Chief. I didn’t ask you to fall on your sword.”

Crossing his arms, Blair leaned against the counter. “Didn’t you? Didn’t you expect me to fix it? Just make it all go away? Didn’t you stand right over there and tell me that it was over and it was time to give up and move on? And didn’t you just walk out and leave it to me to do whatever it took?”

Jim swallowed and turned his face away. “I never expected …”

“No, you expected me to take the money and run; to become famous on the ashes of your life,” Blair went on relentlessly, unable to stop himself once he’d started. “You said, afterward, that I’d been a great friend and the best partner you’d ever had. Well, Jim, I gotta tell ya, if that’s the way you really feel when you could also believe I’d betray you in such fundamental ways, you don’t have a clue about what friendship and partnership really mean. If you did … if you did ….” But his voice broke and fell away. Biting his lip, he shook his head. “I don’t think we should talk about this anymore. You’re in pain and I’m pretty close to cracking up. And I have to finish packing.”

“Blair …” Jim began, but Blair lifted his hands and turned his face away as he determinedly strode to his room.

When Jim followed him and leaned against the doorjamb, Blair sighed and closed his eyes, seeking strength. Without turning to face his friend, he said with heavy sorrow, “You want the truth? Well, the truth is, I don’t want to go. I don’t know if I would ever have left of my own choice. So, it’s probably good, in some ways, that all this happened to force me to get out of your life. To leave you alone. ‘Cause you don’t need me anymore; I _know_ that. And after all that has happened, all that was said, I really can’t stay, can I? Not now that I know what you really think of me. What you think I’d be capable of doing.”

Miserably, he looked at Jim, who was standing with his head bowed, studying the floor. “You were hurt and angry, and I understand that. The situation just blew up, got so out of control it was … horrible. But _I_ didn’t hurt you. Well, guess what? I’m hurt and angry, too. Not about losing my job or career – hell, I was getting sick of the academic scene, anyway. I much preferred working with you and had for a long time. So it wasn’t the situation that hurt me, Jim. _You_ hurt me. Worse than anyone ever has. Because you didn’t believe in me. Didn’t trust me. After more than three years of working together, living together, if you don’t trust me now – _regardless_ of all the _evidence_ that points to my guilt – I guess you never will. You acted like you hated the sight of me. And when you said you wanted things to go back to the way they were before your senses came back online, you think I didn’t know you meant you also wanted me to be gone, to just disappear so you wouldn’t have to see or hear me again? I … I thought I was worth more than that, you know? You’ve always expected _my_ loyalty. I thought I had yours. But I was wrong.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Jim demanded. “How do I fix things now?”

“What’s to fix, man? You got what you wanted, and I’ve got a job and a place to live,” Blair said flatly as he went back to packing. Pausing, he looked up. “I screwed up. I know that. My Mom did what she did. You’re blameless in the whole thing. You have nothing to feel guilty about, okay? Just don’t start bitching now about getting what you basically wanted; what I think you’ve probably wanted for quite a while. And you were right. It’s long past time that I moved on with my life.”

“So, you’re saying it’s all over,” Jim challenged, a hint of desperation straining his voice. “That our friendship, everything, is over?”

Straightening, Blair shook his head. “I hope, when things finally settle down, that we can still be friends, at least of a sort,” he replied hoarsely. “I guess that’s up to you.” He looked up, his face wan, his eyes wide and filled with anguish. “Like I said, given a choice, I probably wouldn’t have ever left. Pretty sad, huh? To want to stay in this little cubbyhole for the rest of my life? But I loved our life, Jim. You’re my best friend. I loved living here, and I _really_ loved working with you.”

“Then stay.”

“I can’t.”

“Well,” Jim muttered tightly, turning away, “then I guess that’s up to you.”

“Oh, come on, Jim,” he protested, stung. “You know as well as I do that if I stay there would be questions neither one of us wants to answer. You _know_ there would be speculation by other cops and the media about why you’d let me keep hanging around after I told such lies about you and used you to commit fraud. No way would anyone believe you’d put up with that without wondering if maybe there was a whole lot more to the story than either of us were admitting.”

“I don’t give a shit what other people think, Sandburg,” he slammed back.

“God, I wish that were true,” Blair snapped. “But it’s not, and you damned well know it. You sure as hell cared about people thinking you were some kind of freak. And about how upset your father and brother were. You can’t stand there and tell me that you wouldn’t care if rumors started up again. If people didn’t just let it die.”

Jim stared at him hard, as if he was going to protest, but then his gaze fell away and his shoulders sagged. He looked utterly defeated. He ran his hand over his head. “I’m tired,” he muttered. “I’m going to bed. We can talk more about this tomorrow.”

Blair watched him limp away. Tears blurred his eyes. Exhausted, he sank down on his bed and buried his face in his hands. God, he wanted to stay so badly that he could scarcely breathe for the pain that filled his chest. He wanted Jim to come back and _insist_ that he stay, that they’d find a way to work it out, take him in his arms and ….

Shuddering, he scrubbed his face. He couldn’t have what he wanted and it was long past time that he accepted that fact. Getting up, his movements stiff and mechanical, he forced himself to finish packing up his life.

**

Aggravated by the throbbing ache in his leg and listening helplessly to the muted sounds of Blair packing, Jim laid awake long into the early morning hours. Everything Blair had said was true – and yet, he’d gotten it all wrong. Yes, Jim knew he’d reacted with fury when he’d found out so abruptly that the secret was out, was public for all the world to know. And, yes, the fury had been driven by fear of being seen as a freak of nature. He’d never been able to get past that, no matter how hard Blair had tried to convince him otherwise and how intellectually stupid he knew his feelings were.

But underlying all that had been the shattering shock of thinking that the one person he relied upon implicitly, the man he trusted more than he’d ever trusted another human being, had done this to him. In those devastating moments after the reporters had swarmed around the truck, all he’d been able to think about was: if not Blair, then who? Who else knew? Sure, Simon knew the truth but even he didn’t know all the details about his senses. Far from it. And, after all the years of covering for him, Simon had as much vested interest as he did in keeping the secret under wraps. No, the information had to have come from Blair’s paper, which had to mean that Blair had betrayed him, right? What else could he have thought especially when Sandburg finally admitted what happened? By then, the defensive explanation was too little and too late to ease his panic.

His world had crashed around him, leaving him staggering. He’d been sure Blair had betrayed him. But he’d been so wrong. He should have trusted his deeper instincts that Blair would never do that to him, no matter how bad it had looked.

By the time the real facts had sunk in, that it had been an accident, it hadn’t seemed to matter. He’d been caught in the clutches of an over-riding, helpless anger. Everything was out of control. He had tried to focus on his job, to give himself a reference point, the structure he needed to keep functioning in the midst of the chaos around him. Looking back, he could see that he’d been locked in a kind of denial, as if ignoring it all would make it go away.

Only, it had grown worse, and the media’s rabid attentions had caused him to fail when he should have captured Zeller. Simon and Megan had paid the price for his failure, had very nearly died for it. Because he couldn’t face who and what he was, couldn’t … just couldn’t. Didn’t know how.

In all the years, with all they’d talked about, he and Blair had never speculated about what would happen, about what they’d do, if somehow the secret got out. Lying there in the dark, reflecting now instead of reacting, Jim could see how criminally stupid his denial had been. For years, they both had known at some level – ever since Brackett had invaded their lives with full knowledge of his abilities and Blair’s role in helping him – that the secret wasn’t at all secure. Disclosure had always been inevitable. He just hadn’t wanted to face it.

He could see now that he and Blair had been complicit in their tacit agreement, for their own disparate reasons, to ignore the threat. Jim had wanted to avoid notoriety. Blair … Blair had been driven to write a paper about sentinels for all kinds of reasons and he’d gotten so caught in their illusion of safety that he’d breached the most basic principle of security: he’d named Jim in the draft paper, believing no one else would ever know. But how could people not know? The people at Rainier who would eventually read the paper would figure it out even without his name expressly stated. Who had Blair been spending all his time with for years?

God, they’d both been willfully blind. Sighing wearily, he rubbed his eyes.

Denial.

For more than three years, he’d pretended that it could on forever, just the way it was. He hadn’t looked ahead, except to dread in a distant way the eventual production of the dissertation. But Blair had put it off so long that, until he’d submitted that chapter over six months ago, Jim had begun to hope it might never be written.

But right after that, Alex Barnes had come into town and … and everything had changed. He’d shut Blair out, pushed him away, packed up everything and told him to get out, and he still didn’t understand why. He only knew that everything seemed to be closing in on him and, underlying the nebulous sense of something being very wrong, he felt a persistent and growing fear that Blair was in danger. No, more than that. That terrifying, soul-shriveling vision had convinced him that, if he didn’t push Blair away, he’d be responsible for Blair’s death.

But Blair had still died. Alex had murdered him. Jim again felt the all-pervasive chill of responsibility that had enveloped him when he looked at the fountain and was horrified to see his friend’s body floating face down. She might have done the deed, but it had been his fault. He’d pushed Blair away when he should have kept him close. What the hell had he been thinking? A crazy sentinel was running around loose. A sentinel who knew what Blair was to him, that Blair gave him an edge she didn’t have. By rejecting Blair, Jim had set up his best friend to be the sacrificial victim on the altar of two warring sentinels’ rabid antipathy.

Wincing, he remembered that he’d mouthed off about trust that time, too, just as he had over the first chapter of the dissertation. Why? Why did he always seem to be accusing Blair of a betrayal of fundamental trust when the kid had never really done anything wrong? To the contrary, from the very beginning, Blair had always, without hesitation, put himself on the line for him.

Was he so arrogant, so territorial, that he resented … his mind stalled, and he frowned. Resented? Resented what? That he really wasn’t the center of Blair’s whole world? That what Rainier offered – what the dissertation represented, and the research work with another sentinel only emphasized – all meant Blair had another life and other dreams; dreams that would steal Blair away one day? Resentful that Blair could regard him so dispassionately as to write what he had in his first chapter – and then continue to write the dissertation, still avidly pursuing his other dream of academia, even after Jim had gone after him and brought him back from the dead?

Was that why he’d remained furiously angry even after he’d known the truth about how the secret got leaked? Dear God, was that why he’d been unable to resist Alex’s allure? Had he been punishing Blair, making him pay for not choosing the life they had over some goddamned PhD? Had he wanted to hurt and punish the kid that much? Hadn’t dying been enough punishment?

Or had he simply been protecting himself, putting up walls, denying how much Blair had come to mean to him? Because he’d finally and fully realized that terrible morning, when there was no heartbeat and Blair’s body was so cold, just exactly what Blair meant to him.

Tears stung Jim’s eyes as he remembered with crystal clarity the desperation he’d felt, the sickening, shattering loss and how, when Incacha had given him hope, he’d willfully given all of himself away, used his very soul and shared his spark of life to bring Blair back to him. In the horror of fear and grief and guilt and despair, he’d been sure of only one thing. If Blair hadn’t returned, he would have followed. It was that simple. And then, later, when he had Blair back, all he’d been able to think about was losing him, what it had felt like, how utterly lost he’d been, how intrinsically dependent he’d become, and that had scared him badly – so much so that he’d drawn back from the brink of commitment, refusing to acknowledge what was between them.

Denial.

God, what a mess he’d made of everything. For what? To end up like this, listening to Blair packing, unable to get past the walls he’d built around himself? The walls that proclaimed he didn’t need anyone? Blair was right. He _had_ expected the kid to fix everything, just as Blair had handled everything that had to do with his senses since the day they’d met. And Jim hadn’t cared how Blair did it, so long as he figured something out and made everything right.

With a sinking heart, he understood now what he hadn’t realized then. It had been a test to see if Blair would choose him over all his other dreams. He’d made it clear that day, when he’d told Blair to give it up, that it was over, that the kid couldn’t have both. And then he’d walked out, leaving Blair to make his choice. He’d made Blair choose because he hadn’t been able to make the choice himself. Hadn’t had the insight to even realize what he was doing. He hadn’t had the strength to face up to the implications of his own senses or to deal with his denial.

He’d gotten what he wanted, though, hadn’t he, he thought with bitter self-condemnation. Blair had chosen him; had given up everything else that mattered to him to make things right. Jim cursed himself for having been blind to what he’d demanded and why – and for having completely failed to consider the costs. He’d gotten what he wanted, alright. While he’d been caught up in holding onto his self-righteous anger and accusations of betrayal, Blair had proven once more and for all time that his word was good. After that press conference, Jim could never again have any doubt Blair could be trusted to go the distance, that his integrity and courage were unassailable, and that Jim could always count on him, no matter what, no matter the cost. Blair said he would have chosen to stay forever. But now he had to go, to keep safeguarding the damned secret. Blair had given up his whole life, including his home, for him.

No, Blair hadn’t betrayed him. Sure, Blair had made a mistake, but it had been his mother’s well-intentioned meddling and betrayal of Blair’s privacy that had led to disaster. And, to Jim’s chagrin, he realized he had also betrayed Blair. The kid hadn’t deserved his lack of faith, his anger and recriminations, and his resentful refusal to work with Blair to find a solution they might both have been able to live with.

So, yeah, Jim had gotten what he wanted … and, in doing so, had lost everything that mattered: the best friend and partner he’d ever had, the man who’d made his hollow sanctuary a home; the one person who understood him and his weird senses, and who valued him unconditionally. The human being he loved more than he’d ever thought it possible to love … loved so damned much that, without Blair, life would be barren, without meaning or joy. He would still have his work, sure, and that gave his life purpose and worth, but he’d be empty inside.

God, when he’d watched that press conference and realized what he’d done, what Blair was doing for him, he’d felt sick, and he’d hated himself as he never had before. As he despised himself now, for lying there, listening to the packing, still too damned afraid to admit to what he felt, what he wanted, and what he needed as much as he needed air to breathe.

He had to choose.

Had to decide whether to give up and let go of the best gift life had ever given him, or face up to what he was and risk the vulnerability and reactions he couldn’t control.

He’d run out of time.

He couldn’t keep pretending and denying unless he wanted to live the rest of his life miserable and alone.

The stark, agonizing choices challenged him to his core, tugged him back and forth. He felt torn, unable to decide, because either way the cost was so high. As things stood, he still had his work and there were no guarantees if he confessed his love to Blair, that Blair would stay. He’d have to go farther and admit the truth about his senses to restore the balance and, even then, Blair might leave him. What would he have left then?

And then, frowning heavily, he wondered what Blair had left, now that he’d given up his work, his good name and, all too evidently, his home. What was Blair’s internal compass? What would bring him joy? What kept him going now that he had nothing left of his own dreams?

Blair had put everything on the line for him.

Why couldn’t he bring himself to do the same for Blair?

Turbulent guilt and fear gripped Jim in equal measure. Nausea roiled in his gut and he had to swallow hard against the bile that burned the back of his throat. His face creased with pain and he moaned at the sharp, insistent ache in his leg – and the deeper anguish in his chest. Biting his lip, he struggled to bring his dials into line, but he was too distracted, too emotionally overwrought.

Desperate to _do_ something, anything, to alleviate his turmoil, he thought about getting up and going down there and emptying every damned box and bag and yelling that Blair wasn’t going anywhere, that he was already where he belonged and where he was meant to stay. But he knew he was in no condition to make any sense. He’d make a mess of it, probably only escalate the argument they’d been on the edge of having, a fight that might only drive Blair farther away.

Right now, more than anything, he needed to sleep, so that in the morning he’d have a hope of making some sense of everything and of being persuasive enough to keep Blair from going. And then he’d work on finding the courage for the raw honesty he’d need to tell Blair why he couldn’t ever leave, at least not without taking Jim’s soul with him. To hell with what people might think about Blair continuing to live in the apartment. With a soft curse, he grabbed the small vial of pills from the bedside table, dry swallowed two of them, and sagged back on the bed.

Below him, the sounds of packing finally stopped. A minute later, the downstairs lights went off, and silence shrouded the loft. Closing his eyes, he told himself that they’d talk in the morning and finally clear the air. Figure out what to do. What it would take for Blair to stay. And whether he’d have to go all the way and announce to the world that he really was a sentinel after all. God, he felt so trapped and helpless. Tears clogged his throat. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff that was crumbling beneath his feet – and he knew he couldn’t perch on the edge of indecision forever. The choices and risks whirled in his mind; a chaotic maelstrom that made less and less sense until sleep finally captured him and carried him over the abyss into the darkness.

**

Late the next morning, Jim woke up groggy from the pain medication. Wincing, he squinted against the blinding sunlight streaming in through the windows. His leg was killing him, the pain all out of proportion to his injury, and he knew his senses had to be way offline. Swallowing against the dryness of his mouth, he forced himself to breathe deeply as he pictured the recalcitrant dials and, through force of will, got them down to bearable levels. Heaving a sigh, he simply lay there for a moment, his arm covering his face, and listened to the silence of the loft.

Silence?

He jerked up, and cursed the fresh stab of pain that shot up his leg into his belly, leaving him dizzy and nauseated. “Damn it,” he snarled, and then shouted with wretched anguish, “Sandburg!”

But there was no answer.

Refusing to accept the evidence of his senses, he pushed himself up onto his feet and hobbled to the staircase. Drowning in dread, wishing he could race down the steps, he could only limp down one slow tread at a time while leaning heavily against the wall for support. He hurried to the door of Blair’s room as quickly as he could, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath tight and rasping.

He _couldn’t_ have slept through Blair moving all that stuff, his bags and boxes, his computer, his files. Couldn’t have been so deeply under … but when he got to the doorway, he saw only the stripped bed and the empty room. “Ah, no,” he gasped and turned away, unable to bear the sight of the barren shell.

Dazedly, he limped into the kitchen, and saw the key by the toaster. Just the key, no note. Only then did he realize with stricken alarm that critical information had gotten lost in the tangled threads of their conversation the night before. He’d never found out where Blair was going. Didn’t know what job he’d taken. Had Blair deliberately kept that information from him? Did the absence of a note mean that Blair didn’t want him to know?

Shaking, he dragged his bad leg to the table and sat down, propped his elbows on the edge and covered his face with his hands. Was this Blair’s way of ensuring that he kept his distance, so that nobody would know they were still friends?

Were they still friends?

Yes, yes, of course they were. Blair had said so last night and Blair wouldn’t lie about that. Grimacing at the thought, the unconscious, defensive qualifier, he sternly reminded himself that Blair didn’t lie to him, period. He might evade, obscure and obfuscate if he thought he had to, but he wouldn’t directly lie.

And Blair sure in hell wasn’t the only one who played the evasion game. The brutal truth was that, of the two of them, Jim was the master of avoidance when it came to skirting around what he didn’t want to deal with, and he knew it.

Leaning back against the chair, he stared sightlessly out the window. He should have said more the night before. Shouldn’t have hesitated and put it off. But he really _had_ intended to continue the discussion after they’d both gotten some rest and their emotions weren’t so frayed by exhaustion. So he’d said too little; and now, maybe it was too late.

 _No, no, it couldn’t be too late._ Blair had said he’d be around in case he was needed. He hadn’t left town, after all. Hadn’t even wanted to leave, except he’d felt he had to go.

Jim rose and went to the phone, grabbed the receiver … and then hesitated. What did he want to say? Growling at himself, at his infernal reticence and stupid fear of vulnerability, he punched in the familiar number.

Waiting for the phone to ring, still unsure about what he wanted to say, he told himself that it wasn’t like Blair hadn’t seen him vulnerable and inarticulate before, too many times to count. And, besides, right now, he just needed to know where Blair was – the talking would come later.

 _“Yeah?”_ Blair answered, his voice wary and tired.

“It’s me. I just woke up. I, uh, I didn’t hear you leave.”

 _“Probably the meds,”_ he replied, sounding distant and preoccupied. _“They always really knock you out.”_

Jim shook his head and rubbed his eyes at the reticence he could hear in his friend’s voice, but he pressed on. “Where are you?”

There was a hesitation, and then, _“On Shaunnessey, between Logan and Marsden. My apartment’s above the new Community Center.”_

Frowning, Jim thought about that. “Where Cramer’s Gym used to be?”

 _“Yeah, I guess.”_

“That’s not the best neighborhood, Chief.”

 _“Well, it’s handy for work.”_

“You didn’t tell me what job you got.”

 _“I’m the new director for the Center.”_

“Oh.”

 _“Look, Jim, sorry, but I’ve got a lot to do today. Are you okay? Did you need something?”_

Grimacing, he shook his head. “No, no, I’m fine. I just … I just thought we’d talk before you left.”

 _“About what?”_

“Not over the phone.”

He heard Blair sigh. _“Well, man, you know where to find me. See ya around.”_

And the line went dead. _You know where to find me._ The words sent a chill up Jim’s spine and he shivered with the memory of the last time Blair had said that to him. And then he felt a surge of guilt because those words no longer meant Blair’s office at Rainier, a place that had been a kind of second home for his friend for almost half his life.

Forcing himself to calm down, but unable to completely still the trembling of his hands, he hung up the phone and made coffee. Though he felt queasy and could barely tolerate the thought of food, he knew he had to eat something. So he made himself some toast. Taking the hot coffee and the meager meal to the table, he sat and stared out the balcony windows.

Jim knew what he needed to do. It was the doing of it that was the problem. He thought that it would probably have been easier to keep Blair from leaving than it would be to get him to come back; especially now that the kid had actively assumed other responsibilities.

“You really missed the boat on this one, Ace,” he muttered aggrievedly.

Looking around the apartment, listening to the silence, letting it soak into him, he forced himself to confront his choices. Was he going to hold on tight to what he had? His job and the security of knowing his secret was still safe and might stay safe for a long time yet? Or was he willing to put all that on the line to get Blair back? And, in doing so, maybe risk losing everything if Blair … if Blair rejected him. What was it going to be?

Grimly, he tried to imagine life without Blair. The ferocity of his reaction to that thought left him shaking and fighting back the sudden, deep sob that built in his chest.

Oh, Jesus, he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t, just couldn’t bear the bitter loneliness that clawed at him. His fists clenched as he fought for control and he panted for breath. The job wasn’t enough, could never be enough, not when he wanted and needed so much more, when he’d learned what it was like to share his life with someone he loved so deeply. Even if Blair didn’t love him the same way, if all they could ever be was friends, he needed Blair in his life.

Sitting with his head bowed and his eyes pressed shut, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, he dragged in deep, sobbing breaths. Gradually, the thunderous emotions subsided and the tension in his body eased. Once again his gaze raked the loft and he thought how easy the choice had been. After all his agonizing hesitation, his paralyzing fears, it was really very simple.

He wasn’t whole without Blair. And if he wasn’t whole, nothing else mattered because he could never do his best, never be more than half a man, a shell that went through the motions of living but was dead inside.

Whatever the risks, they paled in the face of the reality of what he stood to lose if he couldn’t get Blair back. He had to try and he had to give his all to the effort.

But … after everything that had happened over the past weeks and months, would Blair believe him? Last night, the man had said that Jim had hurt him worse than he’d ever been hurt before. And the wariness in his friend’s voice on the phone that morning spoke volumes about Blair’s loss of trust in him. God, if he just marched in and declared his love and that he’d do whatever it took to get Blair to come home, why would Blair believe him? He sure hadn’t believed him last night when he’d said he didn’t care what anyone thought – and why would he? Blair was right. Jim had cared about what everyone else had thought; everyone but the man who mattered most.

Just then, an odd memory surfaced, and the sing-song voice of the strange homeless man sounded as if the self-proclaimed angel was in the room with him. ‘What good does is if for a man to have ears that can hear a thousand miles, if he cannot hear the whispers of his own heart. You should start by listening to the hearts of others ….’

Startled, Jim looked around the room and rubbed his ears but it could only have been a memory. He frowned as he reflected that he should have paid more attention to that sage advice, rather than so quickly discount the source. He hadn’t listened to his own heart, only his fears, but his heart was telling him now that, more than anything, he needed Blair back in his life. And he sure hadn’t listened to Blair’s heart, or he’d never have doubted his friend … or put Blair in the position of having to choose between his career and Jim. If only he’d listened to Blair’s heart ….

Rubbing his jaw, Jim bitterly regretted the mistakes he’d made and cursed himself for a fool. And most of all, he grieved for the pain he’d caused the one person he should only have cherished and held close. What a coward he’d been to have stood back and let Blair sacrifice so much and to have offered so little in return. He hadn’t deserved the gifts Blair had given him so freely and he felt humbled, unequal to the sacrifices Blair had made on his behalf. This wasn’t something he could fix with a statement of intent and devotion, however sincere. He was going to have earn back the trust that he’d destroyed. But how?

Kneading the back of his neck, he decided that he could, and maybe even should, approach the whole situation in stages. The first and most critical thing he had to do was ensure that Blair was safe where he was. After that, he needed to lay it on the line. All of it. Had to admit the mistakes he’d made and explain why, however ugly his unconscious motivations had been, and hope that Blair would understand and forgive him. Only then would he have the right to ask Blair to come back.

Frowning, he gnawed on his lip. Something about all that didn’t sit well, didn’t feel right.

No, he was wrong. It wasn’t about ‘rights’ … it was about love. Regardless of whether he had the right to hope or not, he had to let Blair know that he was wanted and needed. The first thing he had to do was make it absolutely clear that he hoped, above all else, Blair would come home. That said where he stood and the rest flowed from there, from his need to safeguard Blair’s security so long as he was living at the Center, to his motivations for wanting Blair to return. Yeah … yeah, that’s where he had to start.

Galvanized by his decision, he finished breaking his fast and, gritting his teeth, climbed back up the steps to his bedroom to dress. He debated taking more pain medication, but didn’t want to deal with the side effects that blunted his thinking, so he contented himself with turning his pain dial way down. Within half an hour, he’d called a taxi, pocketed the key that Blair had left behind, and was on his way to Shaunnessey Street.

When he got there and was paying off the cabbie, he looked up and down the block and reflected that he’d been right. It wasn’t the safest neighborhood in Cascade. Far from it. Across the road from the new Center, youths wearing the red bandannas of their ‘colors’ loitered in a sizeable group, with glowering expressions and hostile body language. His lips thinning, he turned to look at the Center and watched a number of kids and several adults having a blast painting the exterior. Yep, looked like war was being declared. The neighborhood wanted to reclaim their turf from the Flames, but the Flames had been happy with the way things were – they clearly didn’t want any contender for the loyalty of the local kids.

And Blair was in the middle of it. Great. Just great.

Nodding at the painters and leaning heavily on his cane, he limped inside and found an even larger group busy making the place their own. Some were painting and there was a cleaning crew working on the floors, all volunteers. The powerful fumes from the paint and the cleaning solutions left him gasping and he hastily turned down his sense of smell. Moving carefully through the jostling crowd of good-humored kids and parents – mostly moms – he made his way further inside, looking for his friend. He passed the lounge and noted the sturdy furniture that wouldn’t collapse if kids used it roughly, the tables for games, and then he entered the gym. The place was old and had certainly seen better days, but the basketball court was a long sight better than a hoop screwed to the side of a building beside an empty lot on the street.

There he found Blair, a fact that both helped him relax and raised a flare of anxiety in his gut. The kid was practically surrounded by beanpoles from five to ten inches taller than he was, and it took Jim a second to realize that Orvelle Wallace was one of them. Surprised, he dialed up his hearing and squinted as he filtered out the chaos of other noise and voices around him to listen in.

“Okay, we’ll have practice every evening after school, mostly with Blair coaching,” Orvelle was saying, “and every Saturday morning. I’ll be over here as much as I can to help out, but with out of town games, well, I can’t always be around, that’s for sure.” He laid an affectionate hand on Blair’s shoulder as he went on, “This guy might look pint-size, but he’s about the toughest man I know – and trust me, he knows all the moves and is the best coach you guys could have. So you pay attention to him, y’hear? Blair calls the shots. Give him any grief and he’ll bounce you off the team. That’s it. We clear?”

The boys all nodded enthusiastically and grinned. One sang out, “S’okay. We’ll be gentle with the munchkin.”

Blair snorted, but he grinned good-naturedly and, for the first time in a very long time, Jim saw a vestige of the old sparkle. But the rest of his face was wan with weariness, and there were dark smudges under his eyes. A wave of tenderness assailed Jim, surprising him with how passionately he both regretted his role in having created the weight of exhaustion Blair bore and how very much he wanted to gather the man in close to nurture and protect him.

Wryly, he snorted in bemusement at his desire to be strong for Blair. The man was no frail flower that was for damned sure, and wouldn’t appreciate any suggestion that he couldn’t look after himself. Jim’s throat tightened at the thrill of pride he felt for Blair’s unquestionable strength and courage. Still, that didn’t mean that Blair had to do it all on his own. And he sure in hell needed to know that he wasn’t alone. Watching him, Jim hoped Blair would accept the support he wanted, needed, to give.

When the group broke up to run lay-ups under Orvelle’s instruction, Jim caught Blair’s attention. The sparkle immediately died and a wariness entered Blair’s eyes, reminding Jim sharply of the rift between them. That hurt, but Jim could more than understand it. The shadows in those wide eyes made him think of an embattled stag that was cornered, uncertain of whether to go on fighting or to bolt, and Jim didn’t want to do anything to cause Blair to retreat even further from him. Though the butterflies in his gut multiplied, he held Blair’s gaze and did his best to project reassurance, with the hope that Blair would understand that there was nothing to fear from him. Pasting a weak smile on his face as Blair approached, telling himself to go easy and take it slow, he gestured around the place, and said, “Quite a going concern you got here, Chief.”

With a small smile Blair nodded. “Yeah, I’d hardly parked early this morning when my car was surrounded by people wanting to help me move in and start working on the place. Their enthusiasm is really something.”

Jerking his head toward the street, he replied, “Uh, I saw some of the ‘neighbors’ aren’t all as welcoming.”

Blair’s expression clouded and he grimaced, his gaze darting away. “I know. I saw them out there, too. Hopefully, the worst they’ll do is stare daggers at us.”

Jim’s lip twisted. “I don’t know, Sandburg. Could get dicey.”

Blair’s gaze lifted to confront him with a flash of belligerence, making it clear that he didn’t appreciate the implicit concern or suggestion that he couldn’t handle things on his own. “Did you come down here to check the place out?” he demanded.

“Partly,” he admitted evenly, determined not to get defensive about caring. “I wanted to be sure you were safe.”

Huffing a short, bitter laugh, Blair pushed his hair back behind his ears. “I’m not your responsibility, Jim.”

“Maybe not. But you’re my friend.”

Blair’s eyes widened and the hostility in them melted away. The rigidity of his posture eased and a tentative smile flitted over his lips. “Yeah,” he agreed softly. The smile firmed up, quirking the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for coming to see the place.”

They stood in awkward silence for a moment, and then Blair said, “When you called, you said there were things you wanted to talk about.”

“Uh huh,” Jim nodded, looking around. “Is there some place where we could do that? Your apartment, maybe?”

With a glance at the cane, Blair replied, “I don’t think trying to get up and down the stairs to my apartment would be a good idea. They’re pretty steep.” Waving back the way Jim had come, he went on, “I’ve got a small office by the entrance. We can go there.”

“The office it is,” Jim returned. When Blair started off, he limped behind and said, “So … Orvelle is involved with this Center?”

“Yeah. Actually, he owns it,” Blair told him. “He called me yesterday to ask if I’d take it on for him. The salary is a pretty good deal, especially with the free, furnished apartment thrown in. He wants me to be around twenty-four-seven to help the kids.”

As they made their way along the hall, Blair gestured back toward the gym. “The job’s more than just being a coach and activity director. He’s asked me to do some tutoring and be a safe person for the kids to come to if they’re in trouble.”   
Skirting around a cluster of pre-teens enthusiastically scrubbing the floor, he grinned at them and told them what a great job they were doing before adding, “And, you know, be an example for the ones having a tough time that a guy can screw up really badly, but still clean up his act, have a good life, and make a contribution.”

Jim frowned and growled, “He offered you this because he thinks you screwed up?”

“No, Jim,” Blair replied, turning to look back at him. “He offered me the job because he was worried about me.” Lowering his voice, he added, “Orvelle said he didn’t believe the press conference. He said he’s seen you in action enough to know there was a lot more to the story.” Biting his lip, he hesitated and then said earnestly, “I didn’t confirm anything. But I didn’t deny it, either.”

“Fair enough,” Jim murmured. Glancing at entrance to the gym, he added, “I’m glad someone knows better than to believe whatever they see on television.”

Blair’s expression tightened and he turned abruptly to continue leading Jim to the office. Once they were there – a little cubbyhole crowded by an old desk, two wooden chairs and file cabinets – and Jim was sitting down, he closed the door and leaned against it, his arms crossed. “We _want_ people to believe that press conference, Jim. That was the whole point.”

Grudgingly, Jim nodded.

When he didn’t say anything, Blair’s gaze narrowed and he waved his arms in exasperation as he went on, “Don’t go guilt-tripping on me, okay? You can’t afford to have the bad guys figure out that you might have some vulnerabilities. I told you I’m okay with what I did. I’d do it again, no question. So … don’t, don’t get all weird about it.”

“Weird?” he countered, careful to keep his voice even. “It’s weird to feel badly that protecting me has cost you far more than any person should ever have to pay for another human being? Chief, God knows I appreciate what you did. I’m still blown away by it. But, but it was too much. It cost you too much.”

As if reassured by the reasonableness of his tone, Blair’s taut posture relaxed. Briefly, he gripped Jim’s shoulder before moving to perch on the edge of the desk. “We’ll get past it, man,” he said gently. “And I told you last night, I had stopped really caring about getting the PhD, anyway. I … I probably should have just quit. Was doing it more out of habit, and out of a desire to maybe get something published that might help other people like you, than because I wanted a professorship. Those faculty meetings, man – talk about deadly dull, and the political posturing? Pretty disgusting.” Pushing his hair back behind his ears, his smile was genuine as he added warmly, “My studies got me what I wanted. I got to meet a real sentinel. More than that, Jim, _so_ much more, I got to help you and I got the chance to be your friend. Honestly, man, don’t get all bent out of shape about what you think I gave up.”

Heaving a shuddering breath, Jim leaned an elbow on the desk. Studying Blair, he said soberly, “After last night, I wasn’t sure you still wanted my friendship. I hope I was wrong, Chief.”

“ _So_ wrong, man!” he exclaimed, as if genuinely surprised that Jim could be worried about such an impossibility. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had; the most important person in my life. I hope we’ll _always_ be friends. I, uh, I kinda count on that.”

Close to choking up with relief, for a moment Jim could only nod and smile. Clearing his throat, he asked tentatively, “Then you’ll come back home?”

Blair blinked and seemed to sag. “Ah, man, I can’t. I promised Orvelle at least six months, to get this place up and running. And, like I said, he wants me here so the kids can come day or night; so that it’s a kind of refuge for them, you know? Besides, the reason I had to move out still stands. We need to give it time to blow over. And, and, Jim? I … I think you need that time, to decide whether, maybe, you like having your own place and your privacy back.”

Jim looked into those wide, clear eyes and that beautiful face, so worn with the trauma of the past weeks, and his throat grew thick again. His gaze dropped away, and he rubbed his mouth as he told himself he had a lot to make up for, a lot to make right.

Biting his lip, he looked around the dingy office and then said emphatically, “Blair, I can tell you right now, I want you back home and that’s not ever going to change. I wish … I wish I’d realized you’d think it was necessary to leave before you got a chance to make this commitment to Orvelle. But, but I know you. Despite the way I behaved, I know once you give your word, you keep it. So I understand that you can’t come back right now.” Leaning forward, his tone tightened with determination as he continued, “But in six months, all bets are off. I don’t give a damn, I really don’t, what other people think. I want you back home.”

When Blair mutely cocked a disbelieving brow, Jim grimaced and shook his head. “I know, I know – you don’t believe that. Why should you when I acted like such an ass? But I was wrong, Chief. Dead wrong. If people ask questions, we’ll deal with it – or at least we’ll figure out together how to handle it, and then we’ll do whatever we have to do. But you’ve carried the whole load so far and it’s time I shouldered my part of it. The, the point here is – having you come back home is more important to me than what _anyone_ else says or thinks.”

He hesitated and cut Blair a quick look. The guarded expression on his friend’s face signaled that Blair was far from convinced. God, he had to make Blair believe he meant what he said, but he didn’t know how else to say it or what proof he could offer. Feeling increasingly desperate, he said, “I know it’s a stretch, asking you to believe me when I say that I’ve got my priorities sorted out and you come out on top. But I mean it, Chief.” When Blair still didn’t say anything, he faltered and his gaze fell away. Feeling helpless, Jim looked around uncertainly. “That’s … that’s if you’re willing to come back. Once you’ve had a taste of freedom and don’t have to live with a bunch of rules, maybe you won’t want to move back in with me.”

“Jim, why do you want me to move back in, when it’s so much easier if I stay away?” Blair asked, his voice low, taut.

“It’s _not_ easier!” he exclaimed in frustration, but when he met Blair’s somber gaze, his chest ached with fear. God, he had to get this right, had to find the right words. “There’re so many reasons why it’s not easier,” he said, a tremor in his voice. He cleared his throat and took a breath to steady himself. “But, most of all, I want you to come home because you’re _my_ best friend. My, my life is richer with you there and, and … and I’m a better man, a better person, when you’re around. I’m … I’m just not happy when you’re not there, okay?” Blinking against the burn in his eyes, his gaze fell away and he drew a shaky breath. “It’s not home without you, Chief. It’s just … empty.”

He darted another look at Blair and sagged with the relief of seeing a softening in his friend’s eyes. “I want you to come home,” he said again with simple sincerity. “Nothing else matters to me more than that.”

Blair’s gaze dropped away. He rubbed his mouth and sniffed, and then nodded slowly. A fragile smile quirked his lips and, when he looked up, the hope in his eyes took Jim’s breath away. “I’m really glad you want me back,” he said as if he still didn’t quite believe it but very much wanted to. Blair took a deep breath and let it out gradually. “Okay, Jim,” he agreed, his voice growing stronger, “Unless things change in a way neither of us can foresee right now, I think you can count on me moving back six months from now.” Then his grin widened and the sparkle Jim had come to crave lit his eyes as Blair chuckled with wry bemusement. “Can’t believe I’m admitting this, man, but the rules weren’t so bad.”

“Good,” Jim gusted in relief. “Good.” He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the key. “You forgot to take this with you this morning,” he said diffidently as he laid it on the desk and pushed it toward Blair.

Blair looked at it for a long moment before picking it up and putting it in his pocket. “Thanks, Jim.”

Once again, Jim’s gaze drifted around the office and then to the door. He could hear all the light-hearted voices, all the work going on. “There’s, uh, there’s a lot more stuff I want to talk about, Chief. But I can see this isn’t the time. Once you’re a bit more settled, I can come back. Maybe we could order in dinner or something.”

“I’d like that,” Blair replied, and then frowned with concern. “But be careful, Jim. We really don’t want a lot of people knowing you’re still hanging around with me, okay? No reason to invite trouble, right? In six months, well, maybe by then things’ll’ve cooled off and we can relax a little.”

Anger flared then, helpless, futile anger. He didn’t want to rage at Blair for something that wasn’t his fault, but he couldn’t hold it all back. Facing Blair, he said firmly, “Let’s get this one thing straight, okay? I’ll see you and spend as much time with you, as often as I like. And that’ll be so often you’ll probably get sick of the sight of me. I will not have you skulking around like some kind of criminal and I refuse to behave as if I’m ashamed I know you. Not when … when I’m so damned proud and grateful to have a friend like you. A better friend than any man, let alone me, ever deserves. You got that?”

Blair’s eyes glazed and he blinked rapidly to clear them. Swallowing hard, he rasped, “I got it. Thanks, man. That, uh, that means a whole lot, you know?”

Uncomfortable with Blair’s gratitude for what was no more than his due, Jim nodded stiffly. Standing, he reached for the doorknob as he said, “Okay, I’ve got a few errands to run. I’ll be back a little later to see how things are going.”

“Jim, you’re _supposed_ to be staying off that leg,” Blair cautioned, his tone stern.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have anything all that strenuous planned.” Opening the door, he said over his shoulder, “I’ll be back in an hour or two. In the meantime, keep an eye on the Flames. Make sure they don’t torch the place when nobody’s looking.”

Rising to walk him out, Blair laid a reassuring hand on his back. “I’ll be careful.”

**

Just over two hours later, Jim was back, and he called some of the kids who were nearly done painting the exterior of the Center over, to help him unload the taxi. As they eagerly carried bags and boxes inside, he cast a dark look at the gang members who were still loitering threateningly on the other side of the street. Slowly and deliberately, he pulled his badge from his pocket and held it up, so they could all see it. And then he jerked his thumb in a ‘move along’ gesture. They grimaced, but began to amble away – though probably not far enough. Slipping the badge back into his jacket, he thought that the deterrence of having a cop actively interested in the place wasn’t a whole lot of protection, but it was a start.

Inside, Blair and Orvelle had come to the entrance to investigate the excited yells that, “The cop brought presents!”

“What’s going on?” Blair demanded in surprise when he saw the stack of boxes.

Jim thanked the kids who’d helped him, and replied, “Well, I noticed there weren’t any security cameras outside and I didn’t see any smoke alarms around the place. Gotta be sure you’re up to code, Chief.” Smiling at Orvelle, he added, “And I wanted to contribute something, to help get this place started.”

“Oh, wow,” Blair exclaimed as he began opening boxes and bags. Looking up at his friend, he grinned. “This is great, Jim. Thanks.”

“Consider yourself the first benefactor of this Center, Jim,” Orvelle said, as he shook Jim’s hand. Slapping Jim’s shoulder, he went on with obvious pleasure, “Sure appreciate your contribution an’ I hope we’ll be seeing a lot of you around the place.”

“Oh, you can count on that,” Jim assured him. “And I suspect there will be quite a few other cops taking an interest in volunteering here, too.”

“They’ll be very welcome,” Orvelle said, sobering. He glanced through the open door to the street, and sighed. “I know there’s a possibility of trouble. But, as you can see, there are a lot of good people in this neighborhood. The kids here deserve more options than joining a gang.”

“I agree. You’ve done a great thing, here, Orvelle. Setting this place up.” Glancing at Blair, Jim added, “And you’ve got the perfect guy to get it up and running.”

Nodding, Orvelle replied with a hearty laugh, “You’re right about that. I was sure happy when Blair agreed to take this on.”

“Hey, guys, I’m standing right here, and you’re both gonna make me blush,” Blair cut in dryly. Lifting a smoke alarm in one hand and a camera in the other, he said, “Let’s get all this stuff installed before it gets dark.”

Jim couldn’t do any of the legwork, but he kept himself busy hooking the security system to a remote device that would be picked up by Blair’s laptop, so he could access the camera footage from upstairs as well as from the monitors that would go in the little cubbyhole. At some point, Orvelle ordered pizza and soda for the entire crowd that had been working diligently to get the Center ready for operations. When the food was carried in by several members of the Jags, the kids erupted in exuberant cheers and their parents beamed with gratitude and no little excited awe of their own. After they’d all eaten and the lounge was cleaned up, the kids were thrilled when the team members hung around to play some basketball with them for the last hour of the evening.

“All in all,” Orvelle observed with fulsome satisfaction as the long day drew to an end, “you’ve gotten us off to a great start … Munchkin.”

Jim barked a laugh, and Blair rolled his eyes. “Oh, man, _not_ another nickname,” he whined. _“Munchkin?”_

“When it fits, Chief,” Jim teased.

Chuckling delightedly, Orvelle shooed the last of the kids out the door and waved good-night as he left.

The sudden quiet after all the excited chatter and activity was almost shocking, but Jim was grateful for the respite. What with having to keep his senses of smell and hearing dialed down and the persistent aching of his leg, let alone the emotional upheavals, he had found the day exhausting. And, studying Blair, he noted that his friend looked like the big coach had taken Blair’s energy with him when he left. Not surprising, Jim thought, reflecting that Blair had gotten little or no sleep the night before and had been going steady all day, getting to know the kids and their parents, encouraging their help and generally trying to be everywhere at once. Sandburg really needed to hit the sack, and the sooner, the better.

Stifling a yawn, Blair offered wearily, “C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”

“Nah, just call me a cab,” Jim returned. “You’re dead on your feet.”

Obviously too tired to protest, Blair pulled out his cell. “Thanks,” he sighed.

As they waited in the doorway, Jim looked down at his friend. “You’re doing important work here, Chief. Just, uh, be careful. The Flames play a mean game of hardball.”

“I hear you, man,” Blair agreed soberly as he leaned against the lintel. “But Orvelle’s right. There’re good people here. These kids deserve a safe place to play.”

When the cab pulled up, he looped an arm around Blair’s shoulders. “There’s a lot more I want to talk about, Blair. You … you showed some anger last night.” When Sandburg began to interrupt, Jim shook his head. “I just want to say that you have a right to that anger. I’ve, uh, made some big mistakes and I owe you more than a few apologies. I plan to make them. We’re gonna work everything out, Chief. I promise you that. We’re gonna clear all the air between us.”

Blair searched his eyes and then nodded. “That’d be good, man. Feel free to come back anytime. Mi casa es su casa.”

Jim tightened his half-hug, and then gave in to the impulse to bend quickly to kiss Blair’s brow. Swiftly, before Blair could react, he turned away and got into the cab.

**

The taxi had scarcely disappeared around the corner when members of the Flames appeared out of the shadows and angled toward him. Blair hastily stepped back inside, securely locked the door and punched in the security code on the panel Jim had installed on the wall. Too tense to move, he swallowed against the sudden dryness of his mouth and waited to see if the gang members were bent on causing trouble. But when two slow minutes passed, he began to relax and was turning away only to jump at the loud crash of fists and boots hammering upon the door. Scared, he shouted, “Go away or I’ll call the cops.”

He heard mocking jeers. In the echoing silence of the empty building, he also heard the tinny sound of their voices from the security monitor in the nearby tiny office and he shivered at the eerie feeling of being alone and surrounded by danger. Staring at the door, he fervently hoped it was strong enough to withstand the assault. Taking a shuddering breath, he turned toward the office, intending to call the police.

“This is our turf,” someone yelled. “You’re trespassing!” Another shouted darkly, “An’ ‘round here, we shoot trespassers.” “Go back where ya came from, white boy,” a third voice chimed in.

“I’m calling the police!” he yelled back, hoping the threat would be enough to make them take off.

When his shout was met by more solid blows to the sturdy oaken door, he reached for the phone. But, before he finished punching in the number, he could see on the security monitor that they were moving off, laughing raucously. Hanging up the phone, Blair leaned his hands on the desk and blew a long breath. Closing his eyes, he shook his head and thought about how glad he was that Orvelle had arranged garage space for him behind the pawnshop next door. If he’d had to park his car out front or in the side alley, he had no doubt it would have been trashed by morning.

Once he was sure they were gone, he went through the building, turning off all but the light in the entry hall, before trudging up the steep steps to his new home. “Temporary home,” he reminded himself, warmed all over again by the memory of Jim’s words that day. He went straight to his bed, kicked off his shoes and pulled off his clothing, leaving it in a pile on the floor. Stiff with weariness but feeling at peace for the first time in nearly two weeks, he crawled into the bed.

Staring into the darkness, he thought again about everything Jim had said and done that day. Jim had certainly surprised him with his candor – hell, with having shown such rare emotional vulnerability. He believed his friend meant what he said but was less sure, if things got rough again, that Jim would be as able to deal with exposure as he claimed. Jim’s fears about being perceived as a freak of nature were deep-seated. There was a chance that things would fall apart again, and Blair wasn’t at all sure how he’d handle another betrayal by Jim.

Maybe he was an idiot for agreeing to go back and an even greater fool for being so willing to trust to Jim’s good intentions. Being so close to Jim, loving him so deeply and yet not being able to express his feelings, knowing Jim would never feel the same way about him, was a bittersweet existence at best. If he were sane and sensible, he’d make the break and work at rebuilding his own life.

But … he couldn’t deny the joy he felt at knowing how much Jim wanted him to move back, or the rich happiness Jim’s words had given him that afternoon when Jim had done his best to explain why he wanted Blair to return home. Yeah, sure, it was probably crazy to hope that everything would work out fine, that there’d be no future anguish or that Jim wouldn’t turn on him again – but Blair knew he didn’t really have a choice. Leaving at dawn’s first light that morning, believing he’d never live in the loft again, had been more painful than standing in front of the cameras at the press conference. He’d felt as if he’d left his heart behind and that he’d never be whole. So, come what may, regardless of the risks, he’d go back, like a moth to the flame, eager and deliriously happy to bathe once again in the light.

And maybe he wasn’t being blind or stupid. Maybe Jim really _had_ come to grips with his fears and made a decision he could live with. Certainly, Jim had done all he could that day to show affiliation and support, from bringing in the security equipment to make Blair safer in his new job and apartment, to simply being present without caring who saw him associating with the man who had ostensibly used him and betrayed him. Jim was trying, really trying, to convey his concern and his support. And he was doing a pretty fine job of it, too.

Frowning, Blair thought about those public perceptions and wondered if there was some way of fixing their situation, of reframing his notorious image as a liar and fraud. If he could do that, then he could even go back to working at the PD. God, he really wanted to be Jim’s partner at work. He wasn’t as sure about becoming a cop, but if they could sort out the major problems, surely there was a way of him getting a consultant position rather than having to go through all the hoops to win a detective’s slot. After four years on the job, he really didn’t want to have to endure the whole rookie thing.

And while Jim seemed to be indicating that he didn’t care about exposure enough to distance himself, Blair was far less sanguine about his friend’s secret becoming public knowledge. Oh, not from the perspective of Jim being perceived as a freak, but for purely safety reasons, he did not want Jim’s sensory vulnerabilities revealed. Gnawing on his lip, he thought about various possible ways of fixing the situation, but none of them was simple or something that he could manage on his own.

Yawning, he let the problem go. He was just too exhausted to think straight. Rolling onto his side, he told himself he’d just have to keep his mind open to possibilities and trust the Universe to send an opportunity to address his current lack of personal credibility. Maybe once he’d gotten some sleep and wasn’t so damned tired, something would occur to him.

His fingers stole up to delicately touch skin still warmed by Jim’s tender, utterly surprising kiss. Smiling wistfully, he let sleep claim him.

**

When Jim got back to the loft, he dragged the afghan off the sofa and limped into Blair’s room. Lying stiffly down on the bed, he drew the knitted blanket over him and bunched Blair’s pillow under his head. It was far from ideal, and he’d much prefer Blair’s living presence in the loft, but he was comforted by the fact that it was only a matter of time before his friend would be moving back in.

Grimacing at the sharp ache in his leg, he wrestled with his control over the pain and thought briefly about the small vial of medication that he’d left on the table by his bed. But he didn’t want the artificial numbing that muted all his senses and pulled him down into too heavy sleep, nor did he want to face those stairs. He was worried about the Flames and what they might do, and didn’t much like the idea of Blair being alone in the Center. Not that the kid wasn’t resourceful and couldn’t handle himself but … that gang was dangerous and had a history of violence. If something went down and he had to respond in the middle of the night, he didn’t want to be slowed by chemicals in his body or steps he had trouble navigating.

 _Six months_ , he thought then, shaking his head. Six months could be a long time under siege … and he was going to miss Blair’s presence in the loft and in his life at the PD more than he wanted to contemplate. Damn, there had to be a way to fix things so that Blair could once again partner with him on the job – assuming Blair would want to. There was no guarantee of that and, maybe, in fairness, it was time that he gave his friend the space to do something else with his life. Even if he didn’t continue living at the Center, he might well want to remain its Director. But … but Jim really didn’t want another partner and wasn’t at all sure that anyone else could give him the backup that Blair could. Staring up at the ceiling, he wished he could find the answers he needed written there.

One step at a time.

He was farther ahead than he’d been that morning. At least he’d gotten Blair’s agreement to come back home. Sighing, he scrubbed his face and wished he was more adept at expressing his deepest feelings, but those words had never come easily for him. It was so much simpler to do things that showed he cared – or that he hoped revealed how he felt. Like getting that security system installed to safeguard his friend’s life. Blair knew him so well that Jim was pretty sure his friend had understood that he was doing more than just contributing to the Center.

Closing his eyes, he focused on how it had felt to hug Blair, and how his friend’s skin had felt under his lips … and the slightly salty taste and the distinct scent of his partner that had lingered after he’d abruptly, if reluctantly, left to get into the cab. He wanted so much more but at least he could touch again without Blair pulling away.

And, thank God, those wary shadows in Blair’s eyes had disappeared. But Blair’s hesitation about agreeing to return told him that he had a ways to go to win back the trust he’d lost. He’d made a fair beginning but there was still a lot of ground to cover. He would just have to keep working at it, showing by word and deed that Blair could rely upon him again. At least Blair was willing to give him a chance to make up for past wrongs. They’d work it out. He had to believe that, just had to.

Surrounded and soothed by Blair’s scent he was able to relax and fall asleep.

**

First thing the next morning, Jim called Joel, who was covering MCU while Simon continued his recovery at home.

 _“Hey, Jim, how’re you guys doin’?”_ Joel drawled, his comforting tones as rich as warm molasses.

“Big happenings, Joel,” Jim returned, forcing a cheerfulness into his voice he didn’t quite feel. “Blair’s taken on the job of Director at the new Community Center on Shaunnessey, in the old Cramer Gym. Orvelle Wallace is the sponsor and he’s asked him to live in the apartment above the place for the next six months, so the neighborhood kids get used to having a safe place if they need it, day or night.”

 _“Huh,_ ” Joel grunted as he assimilated the information. _“That’s Flames’ turf.”_

“Yep, and a few of them were hanging around yesterday, showing their colors. I flashed my badge and they faded, but I doubt that’ll keep them away.”

 _“Our Community Policing Unit is pretty good at showing our own colors, especially in support of new establishments like Blair’s. I’ll let ‘em know about it; see if we can have some extra patrols around there at night.”_

“I’d appreciate that,” Jim replied gratefully. “And, the Center could use some volunteers ….”

 _“I hear you_.” Joel laughed. “ _I’ll pass the word around. I’m, uh, glad that Blair’s landed on his feet so fast. I guess Orvelle must have his own ideas about what went down, huh?”_

“According to Blair, he does, and I’m glad of it,” Jim said. “Sandburg … well ….”

 _“Blair’s a damned good friend, that’s what he is,”_ Joel supplied when Jim’s voice drifted off. _“Look, man, we may not have all the details, but we know the two of you. What happened is a damned shame, but if Blair thought what he did was necessary, we’re not gonna second guess him. Whatever the two of you need, you got.”_

“Thanks, Joel,” he said huskily, disgusted with himself for his hesitation in simply spitting out what Blair had done for him. If he was going to keep to his promises, he had to do a lot better – and the place to start was with their friends and colleagues. Determined to move forward with his commitment to make things right, he went on, “Look, I’ll come in early next week and, uh, and share the details with you and the others. You all deserve to know the truth.”

 _“Look forward to seeing you. In the meantime, I better get on the line to the CPU, an’ then get some volunteers signed up. Let me know if you need anything else.”_

“Will do, thanks.”

Next, Jim called Simon and brought him up to speed on the latest developments.

 _“Good for Blair,_ ” Banks said firmly. _“That’s a great job for him. I’m sure he’ll do very well.”_

“Yeah, I’m sure he will, too,” Jim agreed. “Not sure I’m all that happy about him living down there, though. He’s the wrong color, for one thing. And the Flames aren’t going to take the ‘invasion’ well.”

 _“No, I don’t suppose they will.”_ Simon paused. _“You’ve called Joel?”_

“Yeah, he’s going to get Community Policing involved. And I bought a security system for the place yesterday, and got it installed. I’ll arrange for a professional service to get them online today, to make sure if something does go down the uniforms will be alerted immediately.”

 _“That’s about all you can do, Jim,”_ Simon reassured him. He paused and then asked, _“The two of you doing okay? I mean, it’s been a rough time.”_

“We’re getting there,” Jim sighed. “He says he’s okay with what he did, but I … well, I’m having trouble with it. He gave too much. And … and it could have implications for him in the future.”

 _“You think the fallout might compromise the support the Center gets from the PD?”_ Simon probed unhappily.

“I don’t know,” Jim replied. “I hope not. But … let’s just say I’m gonna keep an eye on things.”

 _“Good idea. If you think he needs more official support, you let me know,”_ Simon growled. _“I’m good at rattling cages.”_

Smiling, Jim said, “I know you are, sir. I’ll keep you informed.”

Simon laughed, and they went on to exchange their mutual frustrations at being walking wounded before they ended the call.

As he hung up the phone, Jim wondered if Orvelle had realized that, by bringing in Blair, he was assuring the Center of very personal police support and attention. Knowing how smart the man was, Jim figured the Jags’ coach had been very aware of what he was doing. He’d done Blair a huge favour, but he was also taking care of the community.

Jim tried to take it easy and keep off his leg, but the silence of the loft, even when the television was on, grated on his nerves. Grumbling irritably to himself, he clicked off the TV, and thought about his relationship with Blair. Relationship. A loaded word – but the right one. Leaning his head back on the chair, he closed his eyes to concentrate upon all the things he had to make right.

Frowning, he remembered the wariness in Blair’s voice when Jim had called the day before, and again later, in the kid’s eyes when Blair first spotted him at the Center. He was deeply sorry Blair was so unsure of him now. Blair loved him; he knew that, though he was less certain of the exact nature of that love. Sure as hell, Steven would never have done what Blair had done for him. Simon had covered for him for years, but would he give up his career if push really came to shove? Maybe, but that was a stretch for even the best of friends.

No, what Blair felt for him was as unique as what he felt for Blair. Part of it was the peculiar nature of their partnership, one grounded in his senses and Blair’s help in managing them and in protecting him when he was vulnerable. But Jim hoped it was more than that. For him it was certainly more. Had been, he guessed, for a long time, though he’d never admitted it until those harrowing minutes at the fountain, when he thought he’d lost Blair forever. Somehow, he needed to find out if it was more for Blair, too. But … but first he had to deal with a lot of other stuff.

His mind drifted back to the wariness and he sighed. Yeah, Blair loved him and he’d gained some ground the day before toward restoring their ease with one another – but Blair didn’t trust him, not like he used to. Not unconditionally. And, Jim reflected sorrowfully, for good reason. Grimacing, he kneaded the back of his neck. It was going to be humiliating, but he was going to have to ‘fess up to why he’d behaved the way he had over the dissertation leak. And that was probably the place to begin winning back Sandburg’s trust.

Shoving himself to his feet, he called a cab, pulled on his jacket, and left the loft.

**

Blair rose early that morning. After showering, he unpacked his clothing and emptied the box of books into the bookcase in the living room. Then, thinking about his car and wondering if it had been safe from the Flames’ depredations, he went downstairs and out the back way. To his relief, he found the locked garage intact. Maybe they didn’t know his car was in there – and, with luck, maybe they’d never find out because he doubted the padlock would withstand any concerted assault. With a philosophical shrug, he decided there wasn’t much more he could do to keep the Volvo secure.

When his stomach growled, he realized he was hungry for the first time in days, but he hadn’t had time to buy any food the day before. Figuring it was a good opportunity to check out his new neighborhood, he ambled down the alley on the far side of the pawnshop to the street and then to the bakery. After introducing himself to Amelie, the middle-aged, gregarious woman behind the counter, he enjoyed a coffee and bagel in her company. She told him in no uncertain terms that the opening of the community center was the best thing that had happened in the neighborhood for years, and she refused to take his money for the light breakfast.

“Come in anytime,” she called as he left. He grinned and said he’d be seeing her again soon.

On his way back to his car to do a run for groceries, he encountered kids he’d met the day before, who were now on their way to school. For a moment, he was disconcerted, having lost track of the calendar given all that had been going on and only then realized that it was Monday. Doing his best to remember names, he wished them well and said he hoped he’d see them later. Most chorused as they ran off, “Fer sure, man!”

He kept an eye out for gang members but didn’t see any, and he wondered if they only prowled later in the day and at night. Once again loping down the alley that led from the street to the back lane, he hoped the Flames would soon lose interest in the Center – but he was afraid that was no more than wishful thinking.

On impulse on his way back from the supermarket, he stopped at a hardware store to get another set of keys made for the building. When he drove past the front of Center before turning into the alley to the garage, he grimaced when he saw that the security camera had been smashed and garish epithets had been sprayed on the freshly painted wall. Frowning, he wondered when the damage had been done. Earlier that morning, he’d been watching the street, alert for trouble, and hadn’t glanced at the building as he’d ducked in and out of the side alley.

Shaking his head ruefully at what was likely to become an ongoing part of the running battle with the Flames, he locked the garage and lugged his groceries inside and up to his kitchen. Replacing that camera every day could get expensive but there wasn’t a lot of choice. He’d been very grateful when Jim had provided the equipment the day before. After the gang had pummeled the door the night before, he’d been damned glad to know the security system had been installed and that, as a minimum, they wouldn’t be able to break in without the alarms going off.

Downstairs, he rewound the security tape to a point preceding the damage, and wasn’t surprised to see that the gang members who had defiled the wall and broken the equipment in the dead of night had been wearing their bandanas as masks over their faces. So there was no point in calling in a complaint to the cops. Resignedly, he got a paint can and a brush from the storage room in the back and went outside to cover the lurid curses.

He was just finishing when the cab pulled up and, smiling indulgently, he shook his head when Jim got out.

“Man, you are _supposed_ to be giving your leg a chance to heal, not be chasing all over town,” he chastised as he held the door open for his friend.

“I can sit here as well as I can sit at home,” Jim retorted. Scowling, he jerked a thumb at the freshly repainted wall and looked coldly up at the damaged camera. “The Flames?” he asked rhetorically. “You call in a complaint?”

Waving him inside, Blair replied, “I checked the tape. They were wearing masks, so no way to know who the culprits were. I’ll replace the camera and position it higher so it’ll be less easy to reach with a rock or stick.”

Inside, he led the way to the games room. “You want coffee?” he asked, as he slid the paint can and brush into the cupboard under the sink and then filled the carafe.

“Sure, sounds good.” Jim studied the furniture and finally chose a chair that both looked comfortable and had a view of the doorway.

Blair wandered over as the coffee was percolating and, perching on the arm of a nearby sofa, he fished in the front pocket of his jeans for the spare set of keys. Holding them out, he said, “I got these for you, so you can come and go whenever you want.”

“Thanks, Chief,” he replied with a smile as he took them, clearly heartened by the gesture.

After Blair filled two mugs and had settled in a chair facing him, Jim said carefully, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I’m not too happy with myself right now.” He took a deep breath and went on, “I didn’t realize it but … but I guess I was testing you.”

“Testing me?” Blair echoed with a puzzled frown.

“Yeah,” Jim sighed. He sipped at his coffee and then continued awkwardly, “I, uh, I guess part of me was jealous of Rainier and your other work. I … I didn’t want … I wanted our partnership to keep going, even though, intellectually, I knew it probably had to end sometime.” Setting the mug down on the small table beside him, he linked his fingers together and hunched forward. “Maybe I better back up a bit. There’s stuff I never told you.”

Huffing a laugh, Blair quirked a brow and quipped, “Like that’s a surprise.”

“Yeah, well,” Jim shrugged, “you know I hate the mystical shit.” He licked dry lips and plunged on. “About the same time that Alex showed up in Cascade, I had a vision. I was hunting in the jungle and I heard a wolf howl. I thought it was stalking me and I … I shot it with my crossbow. When I downed it, I went to check that it was dead. And it … it morphed into you. And you were dead.”

He looked up to see Blair staring at him, mouth slightly agape. “Scared the shit out of me, Chief,” he admitted. “I … I thought I was somehow going to get you killed. And … and I did.”

“Jim, you didn’t kill me,” Blair cut in sharply, though the vision bothered him and he could well understand why it had scared Jim. Had it been a premonition? Did Jim have precognitive abilities they’d never suspected? Reluctantly, he set the idea aside for discussion at a later time in order to concentrate on what Jim was telling him.

“I might as well have,” he insisted gruffly. “I cut you loose for no good reason. Yeah, sure, I was pissed off that you hadn’t told me she was a sentinel sooner, but you had a reason. Your research. But that, that just made me feel like … like I came second, you know? To the research. To Rainier. And … and I wanted to punish you, I guess. But it was stupid, Chief. Criminally stupid. I knew she was a sentinel. And she knew what you are to me, what you mean to me. And that you give me an edge. I should have known she’d target you to get at me. To make me weaker.”

“Jim, at that point, we had every reason to believe she’d already left Cascade with the nerve gas. One of the reasons you were so furious was because there was no way to know where she’d gone or to stop her from maybe killing millions of innocent people. You _couldn’t_ have known she’d come after me,” he insisted.

Shrugging uncomfortably, Jim grimaced and went on, “The point is, I left you at risk because I was furious about the fact that I was just another research subject, when I thought I should be a helluva lot more.”

“And you were right,” Blair replied evenly. “I screwed up royally, Jim. What happened was as much my fault as yours. More my fault. I’m really, really sorry that I made you feel like a thing, or that all I cared about was my research. I should have told you sooner, and if I had, we might have caught her then and all the rest of it wouldn’t have happened. If I’d used my head and really thought about why you’d kicked me out of the loft, I would have realized you were probably subliminally smelling her on me, so that made me suspect, dangerous to have around. Neither one of us understood at the time but, looking back, I’ve figured that was the underlying problem. On an unconscious level, I compromised your trust in me.”

Rubbing his hands together, Jim thought about that. “Maybe,” he allowed with a thoughtful frown and nodding slowly. “Makes sense.” But then he shook his head. “No, no, that’s too easy, Chief. I think you did try to tell me at one point but I cut you off – and, later, I wasn’t listening to anything or anyone. I was too caught up in … in sensing that something was wrong but I didn’t know what. I wasn’t thinking straight. Just reacting.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Blair replied. “We’d never encountered another sentinel before and certainly not a predator like her. Neither one of us put the pieces together – but I knew there was another sentinel in the city and I should have figured out you were sensing her presence and that was why you … you got so wired. So stop beating yourself up about what happened. The bottom line here, Jim, is that _you brought me back._ I’d be dead if you hadn’t done whatever it was you did. I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Jim’s breathing caught as he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Chief, you don’t know … when I saw you facedown in that pool, when we couldn’t revive you ….” He shivered at the memories. Hoarsely, his voice taut and low, he revealed, “If you hadn’t … hadn’t come back, I would have followed you.” Flicking a look at Blair, he said, “It’s just that simple, Chief. I, I couldn’t lose you like that. I couldn’t let you go.” He hesitated and then added, “I don’t want to ever let you go.”

Blair pressed his lips together and bowed his head. Taking a shuddering breath, he nodded slowly as he fought to contain the surge of emotion that filled his chest. They’d never spoken about those moments – nobody had ever told him how that morning had played out. He’d wondered how Jim had reacted, to find him dead. God help him, he’d wondered if Jim had really cared. But seeing how devastated Jim was by the memories of that day, he could no longer doubt those moments had been terrible for his friend. He felt a knot inside loosen with the sure knowledge that Jim hadn’t brought him back out of guilt, but because he really hadn’t wanted to lose him. And the thought that Jim had been prepared to follow after him was staggering. Badly needing to lighten the conversation for both of them, to somehow distance them from the overwhelming emotions, he quipped, “I guess it’s a good thing I came back then, huh?”

“A very good thing, Chief,” Jim agreed, ignoring his attempt at levity. “I should have told you all this long ago, but I was, was scared, I guess. I’ve, uh, I’ve never been dependent on anyone before, not since I was a kid. But I need you in my life, Blair. I knew that then, and I know it now.”

Before Blair could respond, he hastened on. “Anyway, I was telling you that I was caught in this … resentment about your work at Rainier. And I think that’s partly why I wasn’t able to resist Alex in Mexico. There may have been some, I don’t know, mystical bullshit going on, but I think I was … punishing you for … for working with her, for working on your dissertation, for only seeing me as a lab rat.”

Blair sagged back in the chair and felt a rush of sorrow. “I’m so sorry, man,” he rasped. “I never, never wanted to make you feel that way.”

“Yeah,” Jim breathed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know that. In my head, I know that. But I think it was the same thing happening again when the dissertation got leaked to the press. After I knew it wasn’t your fault, I was still furious. Partly because everything was out of control and it was driving me nuts, sure, but … but I hated that you’d written it at all.”

“Oh, man,” Blair began, but Jim cut him off.

“Please, just let me finish, okay?” Locking his hands together, Jim swallowed hard, took a breath and said sorrowfully, “I … I’d wanted you to choose, between me and … and your career. I didn’t know that’s what I was doing but that’s what it was all about. And you’re right. I expected you to fix things, like you always fix things having to do with my senses. Only there didn’t seem to be any way to stop what was happening and it seemed to me that I’d lost and your career had won. When I said I wanted things to go back to the way they were, I thought it was all over. I was hurt and angry and I wanted to hurt you because … because with the research done and the paper out there, I couldn’t see any reason why you’d stay. I never really thought you did it for the money or fame or even that Nobel nomination, but I was _sure_ you were going to leave because your work with me was finished. So I went for a pre-emptive strike as if I didn’t care, as if I wanted you to go. But I just … I just wanted ….”

His voice fell away and he shook his head. “I swear I never expected anything like what you did for me. I guess I got what I asked for, though, huh?” he said with bitter self-recrimination. “You chose me. Only, only, it cost more than I ever imagined. I just never envisioned a time when you wouldn’t be my partner. In my head, that was something permanent. Something I didn’t want to change. I’m sorry, Blair. I really screwed things up for both of us by being too stubborn to talk to you before it was all too late.”

Blair regarded him silently for a long moment, while he thought about what Jim had said. On some level, he supposed he should be angry but he wasn’t. Instead, he felt wild relief. He’d thought Jim had hated him during those awful days and nights. Had wanted him to get out, to disappear; had regretted they’d ever met. And believing all that had been devastating. But this … this meant that he was, in some ways, as important and as necessary to Jim as Jim was to him. He shuddered and had to cross his arms to hold in his crazy impulse to throw himself at the man, to hold him close and kiss him breathless. With a convulsive swallow, he finally rasped, “Well, as a pop-quiz, I gotta say it was a killer. But, at least I passed, huh?”

Evidently expecting anger and censure, Jim gaped at him speechlessly. His eyes glazed and he had to look away, blinking hard, and his hands gripped the arms of his chair. Nodding jerkily, he choked, “Yeah, kid. You passed, alright. With flying colors.” Bowing forward, he covered his face with his hands. “But you deserved better than that from me. A lot better.”

Blair got up to perch on the arm of the couch beside Jim’s chair. Reaching out, he gripped his friend’s shoulder. “Enough,” he whispered fiercely, not trusting his voice to speak any louder. “We both screwed up, Jim.”

Leaning closer, he put his arm around Jim’s shoulders to draw the man against his body, and he could feel Jim’s tremors as he struggled to get himself under control. His own throat tightened in response and he swallowed hard. “I … I could have told you that I wanted to be your permanent partner,” he offered, “but I was too afraid of imposing on you, of assuming that what I wanted was what you wanted, too. And I should have told you straight off when I knew Naomi had leaked the paper, so you wouldn’t be blindsided the way you were. I could have been a lot clearer about how tired I was getting of the university scene, how empty and futile I found the stupid political games and posturing. But I didn’t. You’re good, but you can’t read minds, Jim.”

When Jim just shook his head, his head still bowed, Blair rubbed his shoulder. “Thank you for telling me what was going on from your side, man. Makes sense of a lot that I just couldn’t understand. I was … I was really afraid you hated me, you know? So, so I’m _really_ glad to know I’m not the only one who wanted our partnership to go on forever.”

“I never hated you, Blair. I’m sorry I acted like I did.” Jim sniffed and swiped at his eyes. “I, uh, there’s more I want to talk about, Chief. But maybe that’s enough for today, huh?”

Smiling gently, Blair nodded as he eased away, though he left a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Given it’s a lot more than you’ve said pretty much since the day we met, it’s probably enough to last for the next five years.”

Jim barked a laugh and finally met Blair’s eyes. “I guess I deserved that,” he muttered. But, sobering, he added, “There is more, a lot more. I know you don’t trust me like you used to, and we need to talk about that, too. And, and we need to figure out where we go from here. How we fix things so you can work with me again. But, I guess since you’ll be busy here for the next six months, we’ve got time to figure all that out.”

“I don’t distrust you.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t distrust a powder keg, either, but you keep an eye on it, never knowing if it’s going to blow up or not,” he returned wryly.

Blair quirked a brow at the analogy, but grudgingly nodded. Much as he was very deeply touched by Jim’s disclosures, he did wonder how long it would last before Jim lost confidence in him again. And he still had no clue how he could ever be credible at the PD. His friend was right. They had a long way to go. But neither one of them was up to more baring of the chest; there was a limit to how much naked emotion either of them could take at one sitting.

Looking around the lounge, searching for a distraction, he asked, “How much do you know about being a director of a community center? Because I gotta tell you, I really don’t have a clue about what I’m doing here.”

Jim blinked at the non sequitur, and then his expression cleared, as if he well understood and was grateful that Blair was only creating a handy distraction to get them on easier emotional ground. “Well, let’s see. You’ll need files; you know, to keep track of supplies, expenditures, stuff like that. A sign-in sheet, to see who’s coming and going, to get a handle on your clientele. Probably could use a list of addresses of who lives where in the neighborhood, with phone numbers, you know, in case someone gets hurt or something and you need to call their parents. You need to check your insurance. And you need an inventory of all the equipment.”

“Whoa, okay, that’s enough to get started,” Blair cut in, laughing and lifting his hands in self-defense. “Let’s go check out the office and see what we’ve already got and start a list of what’s needed.”

“Sounds like a plan, Chief,” he agreed, pushing himself to his feet.

As they left the lounge, Jim looped an arm around his shoulders, and he was deeply pleased when Jim drew him close to his side. Putting his arm around Jim’s waist, he lent support as his friend hobbled along the hall.

**

They’d been working in the cubbyhole for just over an hour when they heard the outer door open. Blair got up to see who had arrived, and Jim shifted his chair to look out into the entry area. A group of teenagers straggled in, three girls with babies in their arms and two guys, all of them old enough to be dropouts and, apparently, none of them working during the day. Jim thought one of the boys showed signs of drug use; he was jumpy, kept swiping at his runny nose, and his eyes were bloodshot. Maybe the kid just had a cold, but the detective in him doubted it.

He listened as Blair showed them into the lounge and encouraged them to make use of the games provided. Blair asked them about school and jobs, and Jim’s assumptions were confirmed; unemployed dropouts. Shaking his head, he sighed and went back to labeling file folders. When Blair rejoined him, he muttered, “Better count the silverware before that bunch leaves. One of ‘em looks like he might be casing the joint to see what he can rip off to pay for his habit.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” Blair replied with a short, sad shake of his head.

Jim smiled wryly. He’d always be suspicious, and Blair would always regret that those less fortunate had a hard row to hoe.

“Jim, sorry, man, but I’m going to abandon you for awhile and see if I can get these kids talking. After more than three years with the PD, let alone counseling poor students at Rainier, I’ve picked up a fair amount of info here and there about social services. Maybe I can tell them about options for training programs or something that they haven’t already heard about.”

“Hey, don’t apologize, Chief,” he returned. “It’s your job. I’ll just carry on playing secretary.”

Blair grinned. “You know, if I’d known you were as good at this administration stuff as you are, you wouldn’t have suckered me into doing so much of your paperwork for you the last few years.”

“I never said I couldn’t do it,” Jim rejoined with a shrug. “I just normally avoid it like the plague.” With a rueful look at his leg, he added, “But since I’m chained to a chair anyway, I figure I might as well be of some use.”

Patting him on the shoulder, Blair teased, “Well, I think you make a terrific secretary.”

“Right,” Jim grunted. “Every guy’s dream.”

“Guess it depends on the guy,” he replied as he turned to go back to the lounge, leaving Jim to wonder if there was a hidden meaning there, or if he was just looking too hard to see what he hoped to see. Sighing, he shook his head and reached for the telephone book.

After riffling through the yellow pages, he called the ACE Security company. “Hello, my name is Jim Ellison, and I’m a detective with Cascade PD. I want to arrange security services for the Shaunnessey Street Community Center, today, if possible.”

He listened, nodding to himself. “Yeah, the full deal, inside as well as outside. It’s a rough neighborhood and the Director lives above the place. I don’t want him getting attacked or burned up in the middle of the night.” He nodded again and then relayed his credit card information, to have the monthly billing charged to his account. Satisfied, he began labeling a new folder, ‘ACE Security’.

Half an hour later, the outer door banged open with an aggressive thump. Blair appeared out of the lounge almost as quickly as Jim swiveled his chair around to see who had come in and he stiffened when he saw it was nearly a dozen gang members wearing their scarlet bandanas either tied over their heads as caps or around their necks.

“Afternoon,” Blair greeted them, his voice level as he moved to stand between them and the hall to the games room and the gym beyond. “Nice of you to drop by. I’m the Director, Blair Sandburg.”

“‘S a commoonity center, right?” one of them drawled as he pulled his knife from the sheath at his waist and made a show of cleaning his fingernails. “Thought we’d check the place out. Being members of the commoonity, an’ all.” The others sniggered nastily.

“Everyone who lives in the area is welcome to use the facilities,” Blair told them. “But there are a few rules. No colors inside, so lose the scarves. And no weapons. I’ll lock them in the office and you can pick them up when you leave.”

His comments occasioned riotous laughter. “You should be on stage, man,” the ringleader taunted. “Yo a real funny guy.” But then his expression grew threatening as he stepped closer. “Who’s gonna take our weapons offa us? You?”

Jim rose to stand in the doorway. Pulling out his badge, he asked mildly, “Anything I can help you with, Mister Sandburg?”

The gang members stiffened. “What?” one of them demanded. “You his pet cop or somethin’? Ain’t you got no place else to be evra day?”

Jim just cocked a brow and stared the kid down.

“So, what’s it going to be?” Blair asked. “You want to come in or are you going to move along?”

The leader sneered at him and cast a dyspeptic look at Jim. “We’ll be goin’ for now, white boy. But yore tame cop won’t always be aroun’. You think on that.”

Jim crossed his arms. “And you think about the fact that I know what you slime look like. So if Mister Sandburg here has any problems, I’ll know who to come looking for. Got that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya, dude,” he drawled as they turned away and went back outside to drift off along the street.

“They’re going to be trouble, Chief.”

Blair nodded. “Guess I better get that security camera fixed.”

“Uh, I took care of that,” Jim told him. “ACE Security will be sending someone over later this afternoon to upgrade what’s here and initiate twenty-four hour monitoring.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Jim – but, thanks. I really appreciate it,” Blair replied soberly. “What’s it going to cost?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he answered, looking away. “It’s taken care of.”

Affectionate gratitude glowed in Blair’s eyes as he murmured, “You’re too much, man, you know that?”

“Vested interest, Chief,” Jim returned with a shrug, but was pleased by his friend’s reaction. Meeting Blair’s gaze, he added, “I’ll sleep better at night if I’m not worried about the Flames breaking in here or burning the place down around you.”

“Uh huh,” Blair nodded with a slow smile. “Trust me; I’ll sleep better, too.”

**

Kids poured into the Center once school ended that day, filling the lounge. The basketball players all showed up, bringing more of their friends with them, for that day’s practice session. When the ACE Security technician arrived, Jim took him in hand, making his requirements clear and overseeing the installation of internal cameras, heat sensors and motion detectors. And he made sure all the exterior cameras, including a new one positioned to monitor the garage where Blair’s Volvo was parked, were mounted high enough to survive all but the most determined assault and, even then, they would have to be shot out rather than simply clubbed.

After the basketball practice, Blair went upstairs to make sandwiches for them and they ate in the lounge while chatting with kids who barely disappeared long enough to dash home for supper before returning.

Blair encouraged youngsters and adolescents to talk about their schoolwork, interests and hobbies, and impressed upon them the importance of doing their homework religiously. When some muttered about it being too hard, or nobody being at home to help, he told them to bring their stuff in and he’d help them. A number of the kids who weren’t yet at the stage of pretending they didn’t care if they did well or not, appeared both surprised and relieved by his offer.

Meanwhile, sitting down with some of the older boys sprawled over the couches and chairs, Jim asked about their plans for the future. When one shrugged and said he’d like to get more schooling but couldn’t afford it, Jim told him the military might be an option to consider, as they gave excellent job training and paid for further education if people showed officer potential. Several of the youths looked intrigued and nodded thoughtfully. One asked what it was like to be a soldier and Jim found himself enjoying the experience of sharing some of his unclassified adventures. It felt good to know he was maybe helping kids to make healthy and positive choices about the paths they chose to follow in their lives. If the ideas he shared could keep them from joining gangs in order to satisfy their needs for affiliation and belonging, he’d consider his time more than well spent.

A little after seven PM, Jim got a real kick out of Blair’s delighted astonishment when Henri Brown showed up with some members of his jazz band, all of them carrying one instrument or another, from guitars, to a saxophone, and even a portable keyboard.

“Man, what’s all this?” Blair exclaimed with a broad smile.

“Just an impromptu jazz session,” H replied with a wide grin of his own. “You got somewhere we can set up?”

“Absolutely! Follow me,” he said enthusiastically, as he led them to the lounge end of the games room.

For the next two hours, Henri and his buddies entertained the kids and several adults who heard the music from the street and wandered in to see what was going on. In between numbers, the guys told jokes and teased various members of their audience. When they finished, Brown asked, “So, anybody here think they’d like to learn to play one of these instruments?”

There was an excited chorus of shouted responses from the kids and he laughed. “Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna donate these here instruments to the Center and we’ve brought along a whole bunch of self-teaching music books you can get started with. Next Sunday afternoon and again next Monday night, we’ll be back to see how you’re doin’ and to give some instruction. Maybe in a few weeks, a few of you will be sitting up here with us, showin’ off your stuff. Sound good?”

The kids cheered and many jumped up to mob the band, excitedly reaching for the music books Henri and the others pulled out of their bags. Half an hour later, Blair shooed the younger kids out, telling them it was late and a school night, and it was time to go home. There were a lot of groans, but the place slowly began to empty.

“H, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you guys coming and playing tonight,” Blair enthused as he and Jim walked along the hall with Brown and his friends. “And donating those instruments, offering lessons, man, that’s above and beyond, but thank you. Thank you so much. These kids need the encouragement.”

“Yeah, well, what you’re doing here is a good thing, Hairboy. The schools’ve all pretty much cut out their music programs, but a lot of these kids’ll show talent, you wait and see. We’re glad to encourage that. Oh, and we’re gonna ask for donations at our gigs, so we can buy more instruments for the Center as time goes on.”

“That’s a great idea,” Jim interjected. “Blair, you might want to do the same thing. You know, distribute cans where people can donate loose change at local businesses and maybe in the teacher lounges in the neighborhood schools. Might be surprising how quickly that’ll add up.”

Blair nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured thoughtfully and then smiled. “I’ll take care of that tomorrow.” As he walked Brown and his friends to the door, he said again, “Thanks, H – all of you. Really, guys, this is just great, really, really great.”

Brown gripped his shoulder and regarded him with a slow, easy smile. “Well, Blair, I figured if I wanted to see something of you now that you won’t be downtown, at least not on a regular basis, I was gonna have to come to you. Don’t want to lose track of you, Hairboy.”

“You’re welcome here, anytime, man. Always great to see you,” Blair replied. “I was hoping I wouldn’t lose track of you, either.”

Jim stayed until ten, when Blair chased out the lingering older adolescents and closed up for the night. “Looks like your new Center is an instant success, Chief,” he observed as he draped an arm around Blair’s shoulders while they waited at the entrance for his cab.

“I really appreciate you being here, to help me get it up and running,” Blair said, but his gaze dropped to Jim’s leg, which he was obviously favoring. “But you’re hurting, man. I can see it in your eyes. You need help with your dials?”

“Nah, I’ll fix them on the ride home,” Jim assured him, but hated the fact that he was again going home alone. Looking down into those wide eyes filled with concern for him, Jim felt his breath catch and he had to fight his impulse kick the door closed and kiss Blair senseless. Swiftly, he looked back at the street before he lost all control. Not even daring to risk another chaste kiss in case he lost it completely, he contented himself with tightening his grip and drawing Blair closer to his side.

“Alright, but if you need a day or two just to rest your leg at home, do it,” Blair insisted. “I love having you here, but I don’t want you overdoing it, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jim replied, waving off his concerns as he stepped away toward the taxi that was pulling up at the curb. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Jim,” he called as Jim got into the cab.

“Night, Chief.”

**

Blair waited until the taxi pulled away from the curb and then, conscious of the gang members lurking in the nearby shadows, he quickly retreated inside and locked up tight. Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the door, waiting. But all he heard was eerie laughter that made his skin crawl. His gaze darted around the huge, empty building that reminded him of the warehouse and the rats, and how cold it had been – and the shocking terror of the sudden explosion and fire. Swallowing, he shivered and wished he didn’t feel so alone. He hated the sense of being hunted, and being so damned scared left him feeling sick with humiliation.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself away from the door. “Get over it, already,” he growled. “Are you a man or a mouse?” With an uneasy chuckle at his own expense, he muttered disparagingly, “Mouse. Definitely a mouse. God, what a wimp.”

Stiff with apprehension, he walked through the Center, putting equipment and games away, and turning off lights as he returned to the front and the stairway up to his apartment. Slowly climbing the steep steps, he was conscious of every creak and groan in the old building and he longed with almost desperate yearning to be back in the loft.

He lay awake for a long time expecting trouble, but nothing happened. To get his mind off his fears, he thought about how much he’d enjoyed spending the day with Jim and how much he appreciated Henri’s unexpected appearance and support. Closing his eyes, remembering Jim’s firm arm around his shoulders and how good it had felt to be drawn so closely against his friend’s body, he found himself wishing that Jim had again kissed his brow before leaving. Snorting at his wistful and hopeless yearnings, he curled onto his side and, finally, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning when he went downstairs to open up, he discovered the outside wall had again been offensively redecorated. His jaw tightened with grim determination and he stomped back inside to get the paint can and the brush, cursing when he realized he’d forgotten to clean it the day before. Grateful that it was a water-based paint, he washed the gluey, dried residue away and went back outside. While he painted, he could feel gang members staring daggers at his back, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of showing how nervous he felt.

With as much cheerfulness as he could muster, he greeted the kids on their way to school. When he finished the cleanup, before heading back inside, he turned to meet the crowd of hostile eyes glaring at him from across the street. Though he knew it was stupid to provoke them, he was also sick of feeling intimidated, so he sketched a flippant salute, before casually re-entering the building. Going straight to his office, he checked the security video and noted the time when the masked vandals had done the damage. There was still no way to identify the miscreants, but maybe he could do something to discourage their vandalism. Picking up the phone, he called the number for the Community Policing Unit, identified himself, reported the two incidents and requested additional patrols around midnight.

 _“Blair Sandburg, huh?”_ the anonymous voice repeated flatly on the other end of the line. _“Sure thing,”_ he went on sarcastically, _“we’ll be sure an’ go out of our way to make you feel all safe and secure.”_

Gritting his teeth, he thanked them for their support and hung up. For the first time, he realized he could be in a world of trouble if he ever did need police assistance. Odds were he’d wait for it in vain. He stood in thought for a moment, and then he called ACE Security to insist they automatically report any trouble they picked up on their monitors and not wait until someone tried to break in.

After that, he returned to the apartment to retrieve his cell phone and programmed several new numbers into his speed dial, including the MCU main line, Joel’s home number, and 911. If he called the last number during an emergency and help failed to come, at least there’d be a record of both his call and the one from the security company so he’d have grounds for a formal complaint, if need be. In the meantime, by calling MCU or Joel at the same time, he could be sure that someone would respond. Grimly stuffing the phone in his pocket, he went back down to the office.

Very aware that he was alone in the building and the door was now unlocked, as it had to be since normal hours of operation had begun, he tried to concentrate on his paperwork. But his eyes kept drifting to the security monitors lined up on the top of the file cabinets. He could see the whole street in front of the Center, as well as the back alley, and he watched as members of the Flames prowled past almost continuously.

The minutes trickled by with agonizing slowness and his tension mounted. He was sure that they knew he was alone, and he was equally certain that if they were going to try anything, it would be before any possible witnesses showed up. Raking his hair back, he fought his fear. “You’re making yourself crazy,” he mumbled, forcing his attention back to his work.

When Jim arrived just after eleven, calling out as he came through the door, Blair closed his eyes, feeling weak with relief. But he quickly pasted on a smile as he stood to meet his friend and lead the way to the lounge, where he put on a fresh pot of coffee.

Watching him with narrowed eyes, Jim asked tautly, “You okay?”

“Yeah, sure, why wouldn’t I be?” he replied, but he kept his back turned as he fussed with pulling down mugs from the cupboard.

“I smelled fresh paint outside,” his friend went on.

“Yeah, well,” Blair sighed as he finally turned around and crossed his arms, “I think it’s gonna be a morning routine around here. Get up, shower, paint the building, have breakfast.”

“They’re getting to you, aren’t they, Chief?”

Blair looked at his friend and knew there was no point in denying it. Jim could read him like a book. “Yeah, I guess. I hate it – the fact that they intimidate me.”

“Be stupid not to be intimidated,” Jim replied. “Those kids are armed barracudas.”

Swallowing, Blair nodded and turned to pour the coffee. “I called the CPU and reported the vandalism. Gave them the time from the security tape and asked for an extra patrol at night. And I checked in with ACE Security to confirm they’ll also report any vandalism immediately.”

“Good.” Jim gave a considering look at the longest sofa in the room. “Maybe I should sleep here.”

Blair was ashamed by how much he wanted to agree to the idea. But he shook his head. “Nah, I can handle it,” he said as he carried the mugs to the table where Jim was sitting. “I lock the place up like Fort Knox at night. It’s safe enough, just a bit spooky.”

Jim twisted his mug in small circles on the table. “I’m not sure you should be spending the nights here,” he finally said. “And I think you need another worker to be here in the mornings, when you open up.”

“We don’t have a budget for another staff member right now.” Blair gazed around the empty room. “But, so far at least, there doesn’t seem to be much business in the mornings. Maybe we can stay closed until after lunch, when the dropouts start turning up.”

Nodding, Jim pushed. “And at night?”

Sighing, Blair leaned back against his chair. “It’s a condition of employment, man, you know that. Orvelle feels the place needs to be occupied ‘round the clock, in case some kid gets into trouble and needs a place to go.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a long time since Orvelle lived in an inner-city neighborhood. The gangs have gotten a whole lot nastier over the years. I’m not sure how well he understands that. I think you should talk to him about it, Chief.”

Blair thought about it, and then shook his head. “No, I think it’s important to be here. It’s, I don’t know, a kind of statement, I guess. That they can’t have the neighborhood. It doesn’t belong to them. I’m not going to let them chase me out.”

Jim arched a brow as he sipped his coffee and studied Blair over the rim of his mug. “You’ve got more courage than brains, Sandburg,” he sighed, shaking his head.

Blair snorted, and then laughed. “Me? Are you kidding? I’m the world’s biggest wuss.”

Smiling bemusedly, Jim replied, “You’re a lot of things, Chief, but wuss has never been one of them.”

Pleased and embarrassed in equal measure by the praise, Blair shrugged. But seeing the expression in Jim’s eyes that usually meant the man intended to take things into his own hands, he leaned forward and said firmly, “Don’t you go talking to Orvelle about this. If they do more than stare and paint graffiti on the building, I’ll talk to him myself.”

Jim scowled and his lip twisted unhappily. “Once they work themselves up to doing more, it might be too late for talk.”

“I have to try, man,” Blair argued. “I … I can’t start crying wolf before I’ve even been a week on the job.”

“I know,” Jim sighed with a small, resigned shake of his head.

Not long after, the drop-out contingent began to wander in to while away the afternoon hours. Blair got them organized around a couple tables where he and Jim played cards and board games with them. Looking over at his friend from time to time, Blair was pleased to hear Jim encouraging the kids to talk about themselves. When one of the youths asked a question about support services that neither he nor Jim could answer, Blair went to the office to get the phone book and note paper to give the girl the numbers and addresses of various social and educational services that might be able to help her.

Just as the school crowd made its appearance, Orvelle arrived, to take on that afternoon’s basketball practice. All the activity and chatter, the noise – augmented now by atonal blasts on the saxophone and someone thumping on the keyboard – and laughter filled the Center, and Blair was grateful to be distracted from his increasingly persistent worries about what the Flames might be up to.

That evening, when Joel showed up after dinner to volunteer his time, Blair beamed to see him and greeted him with open arms. “Hey, man,” he laughed. “I’m beginning to think this place has been adopted by MCU.”

Chuckling, Joel winked at Jim as he replied, “You can thank that guy over there for that. He called me the other day to tell me what you were up to.”

Grinning, Blair swiveled to look at Jim. “Why am I not surprised?” he teased as he shook his head with gentle amusement. “Just can’t quit playing Blessed Protector, huh?” When Jim blushed slightly, and shrugged, Blair added softly, “Thanks, man.” Quickly turning back to Joel, he took the older man by the arm. “C’mon, I’ll show you around. God, Joel, it’s _so_ good to see you!”

**

Over the course of the week, Jim was pleased that several other members of MCU, Forensics and Admin showed up to take their turns as volunteers, letting Blair know by their presence that he still mattered to them. He was less happy that the Flames continued to lurk around, and the repainting of the outside wall did indeed become a morning ritual. But the gang didn’t make any other overt moves. By Friday, Jim was beginning to hope that the obvious police interest in the Center might have discouraged the gang from taking violent action.

Late that afternoon, Jim was in the lounge playing games with the after-school kids, as was Megan who, even with one arm still in a sling, played a mean game of ping-pong, and Blair was coaching the players in the gym. Jim stiffened and frowned when he heard an all too familiar nasal and very annoying voice bossily directing someone else along the hall from the front entrance.

“Angie,” he said to one of the young teenagers at his table, “run and tell Mister Sandburg that Don Haas just arrived.” She nodded agreeably and scampered out the door just before Haas marched arrogantly into the lounge, his beleaguered cameraman in tow.

The newsman directed his assistant to pan the room before he looked around himself. Haas’ eyes widened in surprise when he spotted Jim, and then narrowed in speculation. Holding his microphone like a staff of office, he started across the room, skirting around tables and clusters of kids, who gaped at him and the camera, as if they weren’t even there. Jim nodded in acknowledgement and stood, anticipating the questions he knew would soon be fired his way. But before Haas could begin asking why the Cop of the Year was hanging around an inner-city community center, Blair hastened into the lounge, Angie and the tall basketball players trailing along curiously in his wake.

“Mr. Haas,” he called in welcome as his gaze raked the room, taking in the reactions of the kids. Some were giggling and waving at the camera, while others cowered nervously behind braver friends. “What brings you to our Community Center?”

Wheeling around to face him, Haas said nastily with a haughty expression, “So, the rumors are true.”

Megan caught the ping-pong ball and stiffened, while Jim wondered if moving to stand beside Blair would be of help or only make the situation more awkward for his friend.

Apparently unfazed by the reporter’s tone, Blair smiled widely as he glanced at the camera and replied, “Well, if you mean that you’ve heard that Orvelle Wallace, Coach of the Jags, has opened this Community Center to provide a safe and healthy environment for the children and youth of this neighborhood,” he gestured around the room, “then you can readily see that the rumors are true. Would you like a tour of our facilities?”

“I’d like to know how a man who admits to being a liar and fraud winds up being the Director of a facility purporting to provide direction to the youth of our city,” Haas shot back, aggressively thrusting his microphone into Blair’s face.

That tore it.

Without conscious volition, Jim crossed the space between them and was beside the news reporter in a flash. Taking his arm in a firm grip, he pulled the man around and snapped, “You’re out of line, Haas. You have no right to harass Mister Sandburg in his place of employment, especially not in front of the Center’s clients.”

Haas just smirked at him as he pulled his arm out of Jim’s hold. “I’m amazed to find you here, Detective Ellison,” he drawled, deliberately and aggressively provocative. “You must be an extraordinarily forgiving man given how Sandburg, here, told so many lies about you for fraudulent purposes. In your position, most people would be avoiding him like the plague.”

Jim knew the camera was focused on them, but he didn’t care. There was no fucking way he was going to allow this asshole to cause any more grief for Blair than his friend had already suffered. Enough was enough. “Get this straight,” he grated, “Blair Sandburg is my best friend. He has never ‘used’ me and he did not commit fraud.”

Snorting, Haas shook his head. “Detective, Sandburg _admitted_ the fraud on national television. He _said_ he lied about you in the paper he wrote.”

“Blair’s paper was –” he began furiously.

“There is a lot of confusion about what that paper was and wasn’t,” Blair cut in, deftly sliding between Jim and the reporter. “But that wasn’t your question, was it, Mister Haas? You were asking how I got my job,” he went on, capturing the reporter and the cameraman’s attention as he laid a hand on Jim’s arm to unobtrusively both silence him and nudge him away.

Jim’s lips thinned in annoyance but he fell back a step, giving Blair the space to handle the situation. However, he refused to back off completely. Depending on how things went, he fully intended to intervene again. Crossing his arms belligerently, he glared at Haas as he fought the urge to wipe the smug smile off the reporter’s face.

“I can understand why you’d wonder about that,” Blair was saying, his manner candid and pleasant. “I asked Orvelle something similar when he offered me the job as director of this new facility. Orvelle Wallace told me that everyone makes mistakes. And then Orvelle said that everyone has to learn that the mistake isn’t the end of it, and that it’s important to show we can learn and go on to make worthwhile contributions to our community, and leave the world a bit better place for us having been in it. I’m very grateful that he’s given me the chance to do that.”

Haas sniffed disparagingly and shifted his attention to Jim. “Is that what you’re doing here, Detective? Giving Sandburg a chance to make up for his ‘mistake’? Forgive and forget, is that it?”

“There was nothing to forgive,” Jim retorted coldly.

“Is that so?” the reporter challenged, interest flaring in his eyes. “Interesting comment given what Sandburg wrote about you in his paper.”

Before Jim could reply, he went on quickly, turning back to Blair, “Detective Ellison isn’t the only one who seems to be very forgiving. Just before coming here, I spoke to Captain Simon Banks of the Major Crime Unit, Cascade Police Department, to get his comments about your new position. He said he thought you’d do a great job and that Mr. Wallace couldn’t have made a better choice. When I told him I found that surprising and asked him what he thought of your so-called dissertation, he told me that he thought the media had gotten everything wrong. According to him, the reason you’d been tagging along with Detective Ellison for so many years, was to conduct research for your dissertation about the police department and – and I quote – ‘the thin blue line’. But that’s not what that paper was about, was it? So did you lie to Captain Banks for almost four years, as well as to the authorities at Rainier University?”

“No, I didn’t. Captain Banks always knew what I was working on,” Blair replied civilly. He paused, took a breath, and then went on, “My dissertation _is_ about the law enforcement subculture, and if I ever get it published, I hope it will be a testament to the courage and commitment of the men and women who serve us and protect us at the risk of their own lives.”

“W-what?” Haas gabbled, obviously caught off-guard. “But the fraudulent dissertation you wrote was about sentinels and, supposedly, about Detective Ellison’s alleged extraordinary senses. Isn’t that correct?”

“No, it isn’t,” Blair said firmly.

Glancing at Blair, Jim wondered where Blair was taking this but, trusting to his friend’s ingenuity, he allowed himself a small smile and relaxed marginally. Behind him, Megan muttered approval so softly that no one but him could have heard, “Good on ya, mate. Give ‘im hell.”

Blair lightly gripped the reporter’s arm as he replied with earnest sincerity, “Mister Haas, I said in my press conference that the document leaked to the media by Berkshire Publishing, without my permission, was fiction. And that was the truth.” He chuckled disarmingly and shook his head. “My mother surprised me with a visit and, when she learned that the first draft of my dissertation was complete, she thought she’d help me by sending it to an old friend of hers, Sid Graham, a senior editor with Berkshire. Anyway, unbeknownst to me, she accessed the files on my computer. Because I’ve been fascinated by the myths about sentinels most of my life, and she knew my Master’s thesis was about people with one, two or sometimes three genetically enhanced senses, she assumed the sentinel document on my laptop hard drive was the dissertation and sent it, rather than the real draft on the law enforcement community.”

“But you’re saying that wasn’t your dissertation?” Haas clarified with a frown.

“No, a few months ago I gave up hope of writing a dissertation about sentinels,” Blair replied, sounding discouraged. “Man, I’ve spent years searching for someone with five enhanced senses and I even thought I’d finally found someone last year – which was a good thing, because my dissertation committee was pushing for some progress and I needed to get my first chapter in for review. But, well, it turned out the woman wasn’t a sentinel. Shortly after that, she left Cascade and I had to face the fact that my dissertation was going nowhere.”

Blair sighed and shrugged. “I was disappointed but not surprised. It’s because I’d already spent nearly half my life unsuccessfully trying to find a sentinel that I started the parallel research four years ago on the law enforcement subculture, as a fallback dissertation subject.”

“So you _were_ writing a dissertation on sentinels,” Haas charged.

“At one point, yeah, that’s what I wanted to do.” Blair hesitated and then went on, “I’m sorry, this is a long story and kinda complicated, but I have been fascinated by the myths of watchmen, guardians and sentinels in virtually every pre-civilized culture, since I was a child.” Gesturing, his enthusiasm for his subject apparent, he explained, “My graduate work clearly reveals that some people are born with senses more powerful than the norm – perfume makers, called ‘noses’, wine tasters, and so on. I believe with all my heart that it is possible for sentinels to exist in our modern world, but I would imagine that they would be confused and in considerable discomfort as a result of not understanding how to manage their senses. Based on my research, I have theories about how such senses can be harnessed effectively so that these individuals could have comfortable, normal, productive lives.”

Vastly enjoying his partner’s glib performance, Jim was hard-pressed to keep from laughing.

Blair’s hands dropped and he slumped a little as he continued, “While I finally accepted that my dissertation was going nowhere, I still wanted to do something for those people out there who may not know why their senses are driving them crazy. So I decided to write a novel to illustrate those theories within a context of an exciting detective story, with the hope that if any real sentinels ever read it, it might help them. And, who knows, one of them might even get in touch with me. It’s been my lifelong dream to meet a real sentinel, an individual who has all five senses genetically enhanced.”

“And that’s the document which featured Detective Ellison?”

“Yeah,” Blair agreed, sounding chagrined. “In my spare time, I began writing the novel and I used Jim’s name for fun, figuring nobody else would see it until I got serious about the draft and did a final edit prior to sending it to a publisher. And that’s the document my mother mistook for my dissertation.”

Frowning heavily, Haas shook his head. “Nice try, but no sale. You admitted on national television that you’d committed fraud.”

Blair’s expression hardened and he leaned aggressively toward the microphone. “At the time,” he said coldly, “the media was hounding Detective Ellison, with the result that you and your colleagues allowed a notorious assassin to elude capture, and very nearly aided and abetted an assassination. Because of that interference in Detective Ellison’s duties, the _very next day_ Captain Banks and Inspector Megan Connor came very close to being killed by a bullet intended for Detective Ellison. Later, the assassin, Klaus Zeller, also shot up the Police Department and again nearly succeeded in assassinating one of our city’s union leaders because _you and your colleagues_ had enabled Zeller’s escape when Detective Ellison would have otherwise apprehended him.” Glaring briefly at the camera, he asserted, “There was no time for complicated explanations and protestations of the truth – the fact that a simple mistake had been made wouldn’t have been very newsworthy, would it? Nor would you and your colleagues have been inclined to back off on your frenzied harassment of Detective Ellison just because I said a mistake had been made. You were having too much fun. So – I gave you headlines that you would pay attention to, and would air on television. And it worked. You left Detective Ellison alone and he was able to do his job.”

“If that’s the case, why are you here and not back at Rainier?” Haas demanded harshly. “Surely if this is the truth, you wouldn’t have been fired and expelled.”

“Mister Haas, the Chancellor of Rainier University aided and abetted the illegal release and publication of excerpts of _my_ intellectual property. She invited Sid Graham to her office! And even after I again stated for the umpteenth time that no one had authority to release that paper, she willfully disregarded my instructions, as did Mr. Graham. I have a solid case of illegal dismissal and intellectual property theft – and you can bet that I will be pursuing the matter in due course. But, frankly, long before this incident took place, I had already begun to seriously question my goals and whether I wished to continue to pursue an academic career. I’ve found it increasingly hollow and pretentious. So I’ve no interest in returning to those hallowed halls, although I expect I will attain my PhD eventually once my grievances with the institution are resolved. Does that clarify matters for you?”

Entirely disconcerted, Haas blinked and turned back to Jim. “Is this true, Detective?” he demanded.

“Absolutely,” Jim confirmed with a small, triumphant smile. “Blair has a lot of great theories about how people could manage enhanced senses, and he rode around with me for years, studying the law enforcement community and our work. The entire purpose of that press conference was to take the heat off me so I could do my job. I hope to see this entire interview on your special report this weekend.”

“So, you’re saying that there was no fraud, but that the work purporting that you are a sentinel isn’t true,” Haas persisted.

Jim rubbed his nose and nodded but Blair cut in before Jim could outright lie, “Mister Haas, Detective Ellison and Captain Banks have both clearly stated their views about what happened.”

Annoyed, Haas snapped, “If all this is true, why didn’t you just submit your real dissertation and clear up all the confusion in the first place?”

“Because I hadn’t yet approached my Dissertation Committee about changing my subject of study,” Blair replied, sounding weary of the whole discussion. “I don’t know if you have any idea how these things work, but a doctoral candidate can be ‘all but dissertation’ for years. My Committee had shown extraordinary patience and I wanted to have my new research paper nearly finished before I broke it to them that I needed to make a change, so they wouldn’t feel I would be wasting more years of their time.” He shrugged. “After everything that happened, I wasn’t sure anymore that I wanted to even bother. I am seriously disenchanted and disillusioned by the way the Chancellor behaved.”

“So you’ve allowed the lies you told during the press conference to stand,” Haas said, shaking his head as if still unconvinced. “And if all this is true, then all that stuff about Orvelle Wallace wanting these kids to see you as an example of someone who could make a big mistake and survive is a sham.”

“The people who matter, including Orvelle, know the truth,” Blair retorted. “And I don’t really care what perfect strangers think of me. As for making a mistake? Well, I did make one – a big one. I used Jim’s name in the novel when I shouldn’t have and that ultimately caused him and a lot of other people a world of grief. Captain Banks nearly _died_ because of that mistake. So, yeah, I’ve made a big mistake but that hasn’t ended my life or changed the fact that I can still make worthwhile contributions or do meaningful work.”

Blair lifted a hand and let it fall. “Anyway, you can see why I thought it would be a whole lot easier to simply redirect the attention of the press rather than try to explain all this stuff about dissertation committees and so on, when all hell was breaking loose with Karl Zeller.”

“Pretty amazing story,” Haas observed as he scratched his cheek. “I think I’d like to read both the novel and your real dissertation.”

“If I ever finish the documents and get them published, I’ll send you copies,” Blair replied genially. “But right now, I’m pretty busy doing my job here as director. Now, once again, can I offer you a tour of our fine new Community Center?”

“Sure, why not?” the reporter replied with a shrug. Glancing at Jim, he added smugly, “Watch my show this Sunday, Detective. You just might find it of interest.”

Jim nodded judiciously. “So long as you get the facts straight, I’m sure I will.” He squeezed Blair’s shoulder before turning to catch Megan’s gaze. She grinned brightly and gave him a conspiratorial wink before resuming her ping-pong game.

While Blair embarked on an enthusiastic commentary about the Center’s objectives, Jim went back to the game he’d been playing with the young teenagers.

Angie slipped back into her chair next to his, and said with the solemn street savvy that came from living in a rough neighborhood, “I’m not sure I unnerstood everythin’ Mister Sandburg said … and I heard some people saying mean things about him since he started to work here. But … but he’s a hero, right? He took the heat so you could do your job and stop that bad man.”

“That’s right, honey,” Jim replied with a glance at Blair who was standing only a few feet away. Pitching his voice with the hope of being heard, and well aware that the cameraman was panning in their direction, he went on, “Mr. Sandburg is a _real_ hero. And you know what? He’s saved my life more times than I can count starting with the first day I met him. He’s the bravest man I know.” Looking around the table at the eager faces as they all hung on his words, he went on, “And you can tell everybody, including him, that I said he’s _my_ hero.”

“Wow,” they chorused in awe. Jim grinned when they scampered away to spread the word. Lifting his gaze, he saw Blair looking at him with stunned surprise in his eyes, and Jim was really glad his friend had apparently heard what he’d said. Even better, he thought, glancing at Haas, so had the newsman.

Blair drew the reporter toward the hall with comments about the gym but the basketball players were blocking the exit from the lounge. “What are you guys doing standing there? Back to the lay-ups!” he commanded with hearty good humor as he herded them and the news team down the hall.

Settling back in his chair, Jim crossed his arms and chuckled softly. Blair had done it! He’d pulled it all out of the fire. Damn, the kid spun a plausible tale. Jim was proud of him. A moment later, Megan slid into a chair at the table.

“That boyo’s bloody amazing!” she cheered softly, smiling ear to ear.

“That he is,” Jim agreed. “That he is.”

They sat in companionable silence, quietly relishing the tour de force they’d witnessed, until they saw Blair pass the doorway with Haas and the cameraman still in tow, evidently in the process of sending the men on their way. Rising, they ambled into the hall and, when the newsmen were finally gone, they converged on Blair.

“Sandy, that was bloody fantastic!” Megan enthused, giving him a hug. “You just sorted the whole lot – which means you can come back and work with us again. No worries.”

Leaning close, Jim whispered devilishly, “Is there really a thin blue line paper?”

Blair smiled and shook his head as he stepped out of Megan’s embrace. “Nah, but it wouldn’t take long to write one. I’ve got piles of notes and observations that I made over the years.” His grin faded and he shrugged. “I didn’t make it all up for Haas. Ever since Mexico, I’d been thinking that I’d probably have to change my topic. And I should have. Would have avoided a ton of trouble if I’d gone with my instincts. Anyway, I really could produce a paper pretty quickly, if I ever had to, to prove what I told him.”

“Brilliant,” Megan grinned.

“My thoughts exactly,” Jim agreed with a grin. “Wait’ll Simon hears this! Do you really have a lawyer?”

Snickering, Blair shook his head. “Not yet, haven’t really had time to give it a lot of thought. But, you know? I think it might be a good idea.”

Megan’s laughter rang out and Jim joined right in, both of them nearly hysterical with relief that Blair had used the unexpected opportunity of the hostile interview to finesse a solution to the whole damned situation.

“I have _got_ to go tell the rest of the gang,” she told them, still grinning. “This is just too a good a story to hang onto.”

“Haas looked like he didn’t know what hit him,” Jim said with fulsome satisfaction. “You did good, Chief. You did real good.”

Blair ducked his head but, as soon as Megan dashed off to use the office phone, he looked up and pinned Jim with a sharp look. “You almost told him, didn’t you?” he accused. “If I hadn’t redirected his interest, you would have blurted out the truth.”

Jim shrugged and looked away. “I told you I wasn’t going to apologize about our friendship – and that you matter more than what people might think of me.”

“Yeah, you did,” Blair agreed softly. Lifting his hand, he gripped Jim’s arm. “Just don’t ever do that again, okay? You nearly gave me a heart attack. Jim … I don’t want the world knowing everything. That would be too dangerous for you.”

“I know, Chief, and I appreciate that,” he replied, looking down at his friend. “And I appreciate you covering for me again, protecting me again. But I’m not going to stand back anymore and watch you take a load of crap.”

Blair smiling up at him, he shook his head but let it go. “Hero, huh? Did you really mean that?”

“Yeah,” Jim said as he threw an arm around Blair’s shoulders and drew him toward the lounge. “ _My_ hero.” He grinned when Blair looped an arm around his waist and leaned in close as they sauntered down the hall.

“Works both ways, man,” Blair murmured. “Works both ways.”

**

Within an hour, the other members of MCU, including Simon, arrived at the Center, several of them carrying bottles of champagne in discreet brown bags that they ferried up to Blair’s apartment until the Center was closed for the night. And Orvelle arrived, too, after the Jags game finished that evening, because Blair had called him to let him know Haas had visited the Center and been given a full tour.

Once the kids left at ten PM, the celebration cranked up into full gear. As he loped back to the lounge to join the others after locking up, Blair thought how good it felt to have all his friends there – how different it was from the previous evenings when he’d been alone and more than a little scared each time he locked the door.

“Tell us exactly what went down,” Joel called as Brown and Rafe popped corks and filled glasses.

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to hearing that myself,” Simon chimed in with a wide smile.

Obligingly, Blair recounted his tale, with eager input from both Megan and Jim who crowed over how he’d had Haas on the run. When he was finished, he blushed as they all cheered wildly and gave him a standing ovation.

When they’d all settled down and he could be heard, Simon pulled a slim black folder from his pocket and flipped it open to reveal a gold detective’s shield. Holding it up, he called to Blair, “If I offer this again, will you accept this time?”

“Well, you didn’t actually offer it last time,” Blair teased, and the whole group boo’ed cheerfully. Laughing, he shook his head. “Honestly? Probably. Because I really do want to go back to working with Jim, and I really do think the work you all do is tremendously important. But I’d like to pursue other possibilities, like maybe being a consultant rather than a full-fledged cop. I’ll take the training, no question – but I’d rather not have to be bound by all the regulations.”

Simon snorted. “Trust you to want to get around the rules, Sandburg,” he drawled. “But, okay, I’ll explore the possibilities.”

Orvelle was sitting quietly in a corner, watching the festivities and he’d evidently been as pleased as all the others about the turn of events that would clear Blair’s good name – but now he looked pensive and a small frown puckered his brow. Catching his expression, understanding it, Blair stated, “There’s no big rush, Simon. I’ve made a commitment to this job for six months. I intend to keep my word. Orvelle – you believed in me when not a lot of people did. I’ll always be grateful for that.”

Shrugging, the big coach shook his head. “You don’t owe me a thing, Munchkin,” he avowed with a smile and sly look as if he knew full well the pet name would vastly amuse the others, who burst into exuberant laughter.

Blair scowled, even as he playfully shook a finger at Orvelle. “I promise you, I will get you for that, man!”

Laughing, Orvelle waved off the threat. “Seriously, I’m not going to hold you to your commitment. But I would appreciate it if you’d stay on until I can get a replacement. You’ve done great work here in the past week and I don’t want to lose the momentum. And, hey,” he added, with a glance at Jim, “it’s great advertising to have a bona fide hero running the place.”

Blair blushed again and ducked his head at the reminder of what he and the others had all heard the kids repeating excitedly all evening long. “Well,” he demurred, “hero is over-stretching it _just_ a bit. But I’ll certainly stay until we find a new director.”

“And we’ll all help with the search,” Simon added. “Once we spread the word, I’m sure we’ll come up with lots of contenders for the job.”

“Ah, but will they all be heroes?” Orvelle teased.

“Not like the one you’ve got now, sorry,” Jim intoned with a proud smile. “They broke the mold when they made this guy.”

“Probably a good thing,” Blair retorted, but he smiled broadly in return as he held his friend’s affectionate gaze.

**

Jim might have stayed after the others left, but it was late when the party finally broke up, and Joel was insistent about driving him and Simon home. So he gave Blair a swift, hard, sideways hug as he said fondly, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Chief.”

“Tomorrow,” Blair agreed blearily as he covered a yawn. The champagne had left him feeling more than a bit woozy. “Saturday. No school. ‘S gonna be _so_ busy here all day, man.”

He walked them outside, merrily waved them off and then, without even glancing at the lurking Flames, he went back inside and locked up. Deciding he was definitely tipsy, he was careful on the stairs. But he was too exhilarated by the unbelievable turn of events to worry about being drunk. Crashing onto his bed, his last fleeting thoughts were that he’d be going back home soon. And he’d get to work with Jim again.

Smiling blissfully, he figured life just didn’t get better than that.

**

The earth-shattering deep blast of the buzzer from the front door shocked him into sudden, breathless wakefulness. “Oh, God,” he moaned at the fierce pounding in his head that the riotous noise set off. “Too much champagne,” he muttered as he struggled upright and wondered what the hell time it was.

Fumbling for the lamp to turn on the light, dizzy and disoriented, it took him a minute to realize that he’d never undressed and didn’t have to find his jeans. Whoever was leaning on that damned buzzer wasn’t giving it a rest and he winced, holding his head as he stumbled down the steps as fast as he could, given how truly rotten he felt.

“I’m coming!” he shouted, hoping they’d stop the infernal racket, but he cringed at the loud, rough sound of his voice.

Finally, he made it down the steps, released the security system, and unbolted the door, only belatedly thinking as he swung it open that he probably should have checked to see who was out there. Fear flashed, sobering him quickly, and then relief hit, leaving him queasy, when he saw it wasn’t a bunch of gang members. It was only one of the dropouts who showed up every afternoon to hang around. Squinting into the darkness at the kid who was just beyond the light from the hall spilling onto the street, he yelled irritably, “I’m here, already, I’m here,” to get the thin kid to stop leaning his whole body on the buzzer.

“What’s wrong?” he asked with growing concern when the guy didn’t respond but only kept leaning on the damned noisemaker. What was the kid’s name? Alan? No, Andy. His nose wrinkling at the smell of vomit, his alarm grew as he realized Andy was really sick. Reaching out, he gripped the kid’s arm and then had to shift quickly to catch the youth as he began to crumple. “Easy, man,” he called as he got his arms around Andy and pulled him inside, under the stark light of the entry hall.

He carefully stretched Andy out on the floor and, trying not to gag at the stench of the vomit that coated the kid’s filthy shirt, knelt beside him. The teenager’s skin was grey, cold and sweaty, and his breathing was both labored and frighteningly slow. Calling out his name, Blair checked Andy’s pulse and was even more alarmed by its faint, fluttery irregularity. When he checked the pupils, he found them widely dilated.

“Shit, you’re really stoned,” he muttered and eased the kid onto his side, in case he vomited again.

Scrambling to his feet, he raced into the office and punched in 911. Giving the address, he added urgently, “I’ve got a kid here who looks like he’s dying from an overdose. Please, please hurry!”

He ran back to Andy, dropping down beside him. Pulling off his flannel shirt, he covered the kid to try to keep him warm. And then he drew the youth into his arms. “C’mon, Andy,” he called. “Don’t do this, man. Keep breathing, okay? Just keep breathing. Help is on the way.”

In moments, he heard sirens and he vaguely thought the response was faster than seemed possible, but he was infinitely relieved. Flashing lights pulsed in the street and doors slammed, and then cops – weapons drawn – were racing in the door. “Where’s the ambulance?” he asked in confusion, not even really registering the guns as he looked past them anxiously.

“What ambulance?” one of the uniforms demanded.

“I just called an ambulance,” he replied, thinking they were idiots. “This kid is in really bad shape.”

Andy convulsed in his arms and his breath rattled horribly … and then he went absolutely still.

“Oh, God,” Blair gasped. “He’s dying!” Swiftly, he laid Andy down and was about to start mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, only to be roughly pulled away by two of the cops. “What are you doing?!” he shouted, struggling. “We gotta help him!” A cop slugged him and he roared with rage, kicking back and fighting to get free. He was punched again, harder than the first time, leaving him reeling.

“Just settle down, Sandburg,” one of the cops restraining him ordered, twisting his arm behind his back so hard Blair thought his shoulder might dislocate. His world spun and he nearly passed out, barely hearing someone say, “We’ll take care of the kid.”

Blinking furiously, desperate to stay alert, he dragged in air and looked around wildly. When he saw one of the uniforms begin resuscitation measures and understood they really were going to help, he sagged in the hard grip of the cops holding him. Looking with muddled confusion at the hostile men surrounding him, he wondered why they had bashed him around and were glowering at him. What the hell was going on? None of it made any sense. “I don’t understand,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Search the place,” one of the cops holding him ordered others. “Vice is on their way.”

“Vice?” Blair exclaimed, but nobody answered him; nobody explained anything. Giving up, figuring answers could wait, he returned his attention to the efforts being made to save Andy’s life.

“He reeks of alcohol,” one of the cops sneered disgustedly. “God, what a creep. Lies about Ellison, commits fraud when he’s supposed to be a teacher, and now he’s passing himself off as some kind of social worker when he’s really pushing drugs on them.”

Blair’s eyes widened as it sank in that the cop was talking about him. “No, wait, you’re wrong!” he protested, appalled anyone would think he’d hurt anyone, let alone kids.

But the words were scarcely out of his mouth, when one of the cops furiously slammed in close to drive a fist into Blair’s gut. “Shut the hell up!” he snarled.

Choking, gasping for breath, hanging between the two behemoths holding him up, Blair began to wonder if he was caught in some kind of horrible nightmare. Nothing made any sense. God. He hoped it was a nightmare. Andy still wasn’t breathing.

The ambulance finally arrived and, right behind it, two detectives from Vice stormed inside, adding to the confusion. The paramedics started working on Andy while Blair panted anxiously. At first, the punches hadn’t really registered, but pain was starting to blast through his face and his diaphragm was spasming, making it agonizing to breathe. But he shoved the pain away and watched what was happening with growing horror.

They intubated the kid and started bagging him, but one EMT checked Andy’s throat for a pulse, and looked up at the other who was doing cardiac massage. Shaking his head, he reported hollowly, “He’s gone.” Then, glancing up at the cops standing around, he said, “This one’s for the M.E. He was gone before we got here.”

“Ah, no,” Blair gasped, nausea spiking in his gut.

A cop called from behind him, “Found something back in the storage room off the gym. Looks like pure smack. And there was quite a party here earlier – lots of glasses stinking of alcohol and a bunch of empty champagne and beer bottles.”

One of the Vice detectives took off to check and bag the evidence, while the other, one of the guys Blair had never gotten along with, snarled, “Looks like your luck finally ran out, Sandburg. We got a tip that you’ve been serving booze to minors and selling illegal drugs. You’re goin’ down on this one. About damned time.”

“ _I did not do this!_ ” Blair insisted grimly. “There were at least a hundred kids and adults in here tonight. Anyone could have planted that stuff. Who called you anyway? These cops didn’t even know an ambulance was on its way when they first got here.” But it was all too clear that nobody was listening to him. Nobody believed him.

The other Vice cop came back, holding a large plastic sack filled with white powder in his hand. “Book him,” he ordered. “And bag the glasses and bottles in the lounge. The prints’ll probably tie him to the victim and give us leads on other kids that were here.”

“The whole Major Crime gang was here after the Center closed for the night. It’s their prints on those glasses!” Blair shouted, but the men around him just rolled their eyes, not believing a word he had to say.

“Yeah, like anybody in MCU’d give you the time of day,” somebody muttered belligerently.

Scarcely able to believe what was happening, Blair closed his eyes and forced back the bile that burned in his throat. One cop read him his rights, while another roughly cuffed his wrists behind his back. He was dragged outside to a patrol car and shoved inside. Struggling to regain some measure of calm, he told himself he’d get a phone call. Jim would sort this out – but, he slumped in misery.

Nobody could help Andy.

All he could think about was that poor, pathetic kid, lying dead of an overdose on the grungy tile floor of the hall. And then it hit him. The cops showing up before they knew he’d called for help; the anonymous call to Vice; the drugs stashed in the storage room.

Andy hadn’t simply died under unfortunate circumstances. He’d been murdered!

 _Deliberately, cold-bloodedly murdered – to set him up!_

Doubling over, battling the urge to retch, he moaned in horror and helpless sorrow. Oh, God, if the Flames wanted to be rid of him so bad, why hadn’t they just killed _him_? Why pick on some unhappy, lost kid who was just doing his best to survive?

That poor kid. That poor, poor, innocent kid.

When they got him downtown, they shoved him inside and someone tripped him, so he went flying, the breath knocked out of him when he hit the floor hard. They dragged him to his feet and manhandled him into Booking. His prints were taken, his photos, and he was given a breathalyzer test before they started to haul him toward an interrogation room.

But he dug in his heels. “I’ve got a right to make a phone call,” he loudly insisted. “And I’ve got nothing to say to you until I’ve got representation here, so you might as well not waste your time badgering me in interrogation.”

Disgusted, they stood him in front of the phone hanging on the wall of the hall and he was handed a quarter. After he punched in the number, he stood with his head hanging, one hand tentatively checking out the damage to his face as he waited for an answer. As soon as he heard Jim’s voice, he blurted, “Jim, I’ve been arrested by Vice for murder and drug trafficking. One of the dropouts, Andy – he OD’d; died in my arms. The cops found what looks like a kilo of heroin in the storage room. Get the security tapes, okay? Everything that went down’ll be on them. Better call Orvelle. Let him know what happened. And, please, man, get me outta here.”

When he hung up, he was taken to Holding and put in a stinking cell already overcrowded with other desperate and drunken men who had been arrested that night. Doing his best to ignore them and their lewd, threatening comments, he moved to a corner where a wall met the steel bars and sank down onto the filthy floor. Wrapping his arms around his sore gut, he bent his head to his knees and settled in to wait.

**

Livid with fury, Jim stormed off the elevator outside Vice. Beside him, Taggart was no less irate. As they hastened down the hall, they heard the Vice cops crowing about how they’d finally stuck it to that fag, Sandburg, and he was going to fry. But the boasting voices died when they burst into the Operations Room.

“You guys are _idiots_!” Joel snapped coldly. Holding up a clear bag with three videotapes inside, he shook it at them. “And you’re gonna be charged with assault and false arrest before I’m done here tonight.”

“Back off, Captain,” one of them sneered. “We got him cold. Still holding the dead body, drugs in the back, evidence of serving alcohol to minors. Looked like Sandburg had quite a party over at the Center earlier tonight.”

“That so?” Joel slammed back. “You’re gonna feel mighty stupid when you find the prints of the members of MCU on those glasses, just like Sandburg told you. If you’d bothered to check these security tapes, you’d see that a masked Flames’ gang member pushed that kid, Andy, up against the door buzzer. And you’d also have been able to spot the kid that planted the stuff in the supply room. On top of all that, these tapes show officers of the law manhandling and beating an innocent civilian who had been trying to help the poor kid that died tonight. The smartest thing you could do right now is resign before you get fired.”

Jim growled, dangerously cold, “The Flames set Sandburg up. If you didn’t have your heads stuck up your asses, and weren’t so set on punishing Sandburg when you haven’t got a fucking clue about the facts, you might’ve noticed that the anonymous tip was a little too convenient and you’d’ve conducted an investigation and not a _witchhunt._ I want him out of that cell NOW!”

One of the Vice detectives reached for the bag of tapes, but Joel pulled it away. “Nuh uh,” he grunted. “MCU is taking over this case. You morons are on report.” Eying them contemptuously, he ordered, “Like the man said – get Sandburg out of that cell _now._ ”

“You don’t have any right to barge in here –” the detective blustered.

“Don’t push it,” Joel cautioned. “You’re already in a world of trouble. The Chief is probably talking to your Captain as we speak. Don’t make it worse, now that you know the facts.”

Cowed, apparently realizing just how badly they’d screwed up that night, the arresting detective nodded mutely and led them back toward the elevator. In the car on the way down, Joel drawled, “You and your pals might want to make a point of watching the Haas Report, ‘Telling It Like It Is’, this weekend, to see how wrong you’ve been about damned near everything when it comes to Sandburg.”

The detective flicked him a sideways look, but evidently decided that silence was his best bet.

They emerged on the ground floor and went around back to the restricted entry that led to Booking and the holding cells beyond. While the Vice detective cleared the paperwork for Sandburg’s release, Joel said to Jim, “Don’t let what we overheard upstairs get you down, okay? Most of us aren’t homophobic jerks like these guys.”

Jim had been focusing on trying to hear Blair and he started at Joel’s words. Frowning, he replied, “Sandburg isn’t gay, Joel. As far as I know, he’s not even bisexual.”

Taggart huffed a small laugh. “You know, I bet he’d say the same thing about you.”

Disconcerted and thoroughly confused, irritated by the distraction when he just wanted to get to Blair, Jim snapped, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rolling his eyes, Joel replied, “When all this shit with the Flames is sorted out, get yourself some popcorn sometime and settle down to watch those security tapes with Blair, the shots that focus on the two of you together. Take a good long gander at how you look at each other, Jim. Maybe you’ll see what the rest of us have seen for quite some time now.”

Before Jim could respond, Joel nudged him forward toward the cells behind the staff sergeant who was on his way to set Blair free. Shrugging off Taggart’s confusing comments, Jim hastened past the heavy, reinforced door and down the long, dismal corridor of cells to the main holding tank. His chest felt tight with anxiety and he wished to hell they could have come straight here rather than have to put the pieces together to damn well prove Blair was being framed. Two hours could be a long time in Holding.

When he saw his friend huddled miserably in the corner, Jim’s throat tightened and, once again, he had to put a lock on his rage toward those who had done this. “Sandburg,” he called, just loud enough to be heard.

Blair’s head jerked up and a relieved, lopsided smile lit his bruised and battered face. His lip was swollen on one side and a bruise was darkening on his jaw. Another blackened his right eye. He pushed himself up with alacrity, but Jim heard the soft hiss and saw him lift an arm unconsciously to support his gut. And he limped as he shifted past other prisoners to the now open cell door.

“Man, I’m so glad to see you. And you, too, Joel. I’m sorry to drag you out in the middle of the night but those clowns were determined not to listen to anything I said.”

“Yeah, we saw that on the tape, Chief,” Jim told him grimly. “You okay?”

“Sure, just bruised is all,” Blair reassured him but then his expression fell. “Andy wasn’t so lucky.”

Nodding, Jim looped an arm around his shoulders and guided him back along the hall, Joel trailing behind them.

“The tapes give any clue as to who did it, stashed the stuff, I mean?” Blair asked.

Again Jim nodded and Joel spoke up. “Yeah. We spotted a kid carrying a backpack into and out of the storage room.”

“He was one of the ones that hassled you the other day,” Jim added and shrugged. “Last evening, he came into the Center without his colors. There were so many kids there last night that I didn’t spot him.”

“He probably did his best to avoid both of us,” Blair sighed as he collected his possessions at the counter.

“We’ve got an APB out on him,” Joel said. “Only a matter of time till somebody spots him and brings him in. The masked guy, though, that leaned – Andy, was it? – against the door buzzer won’t be as easy to catch. No way to tell who he was, not for sure. Unless you spotted something, Jim?”

“No, I didn’t,” Jim replied as they got into the elevator to head to the basement. Recalling the beating he’d witnessed on the security tapes, his gaze flickered over Blair, assessing the darkening bruises and shocky pallor, and the way his friend held a protective arm across his body. He was holding up despite how battered he looked … but nothing on the tapes explained the limp.

“I’m okay,” Blair muttered.

“Uh huh. Sure you are,” he grunted, his lips thinning as he looked away. But he kept his arm around Blair’s shoulders. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

“I, uh, went for a header on the way into the station.”

“Someone tripped you?” Jim demanded, exchanging an irate look with Joel.

“Yeah,” he sighed and closed his eyes as he leaned into Jim’s support.

When they reached the parking garage, Joel waved them toward his sedan. “C’mon, let’s get you boys home. You both look like you’re about to keel right over.”

“Joel, could you drop me back at the Center?” Blair asked as he opened the door into the backseat. When both older men looked at him askance, he waved at his now very grubby T-shirt. “All my clothes are there.”

“Forget it. We’re going home. Won’t be the first time you wore one of my shirts,” Jim grated as he peeled off his jacket and tossed it to Blair. “They’re still cleaning up the crime scene, so you couldn’t get back in until later today, anyway.”

“Oh, okay,” Blair allowed as he pulled on the warm jacket and slid into the car. Settling back against the seat, he tried hard not to show how relieved he was not to be going straight back to Shaunnessey Street. He wasn’t at all sure how he was going to be able to sleep there again. Taking a slow breath and leaning his head back, closing his eyes, he told himself his fear was just the shock of everything. Once he calmed down and the pain subsided, he’d be all right.

Watching the byplay, listening as he got in behind the wheel, Joel chuckled to himself and shook his head as he wondered how two such exceptionally perceptive individuals could be as blind as bats.

Distracted by the low chuckle, Jim shifted his concerned attention away from Blair just enough to irritably wonder what Joel found so damned funny. “What about laying charges on those jerks?” he demanded.

Joel glanced into the mirror and saw Blair gaping at them. “Don’t you start, Blair. Those guys deserve to be reported for what they did to you. Nobody beats on a civilian like they did you without answering for it, and you know it.” Glancing at Jim, he went on, “I’ll be following up with IA after I drop you guys off. The photos from Booking will show the facial bruises real well, and the security tapes tell the story. Blair, I’m gonna want a full statement later – and don’t be forgetting the details of that tumble you took. They won’t get off with a slap on the wrist, I promise you that.”

**

As soon as they were inside the loft, Jim turned Blair and examined his face. Used to his friend’s need to reassure himself, Blair did his best not to wince at the gentle touch and didn’t flinch when Jim abruptly lifted the front of his shirt to check his ribs and then bent to examine his leg.

“I’m okay,” he repeated, “at least physically.” Looking away from Jim’s intent gaze, he murmured, “They killed that kid. To frame me. Just … just killed him ‘cause he was handy; like he was disposable.” His voice caught and he shook his head.

“He was a junky, Chief. Probably got his stuff from the same guy who gave him bad shit last night,” Jim replied evenly as he got to his feet. “He was hanging around, casing the Center, to see what he could rip off to support his habit. You know that as well as I do.”

“Yeah, probably,” Blair nodded. “But he didn’t deserve to die.”

“No,” Jim agreed. “But you didn’t kill him. It’s not your fault.”

“I know.” Anger he was barely controlling flared in his eyes and he growled, “I want them, man. I want to nail them for this. I will _not_ let them win.”

“Don’t let it get personal,” Jim cautioned. “You know better.”

Blair gave a short, sharp nod. “Yeah, whatever it takes, right? Lock the emotions down,” he said bitterly. Flicking a hard glance at Jim, he added, “Like you do. Hard to strike a balance, though, huh? Hard to only hold the bad stuff, the inconvenient stuff, inside and still know how to let out the rest.” He searched Jim’s face but Jim couldn’t hold his gaze. Sighing, his shoulders sagged and he wearily ran his fingers through his tangled hair. “It’s hard, but I’ve been learning, you know?”

Jim nodded. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly, sounding regretful. He blew a long breath and then said more briskly, “You’ve had a hell of a night, and you need to crash.”

With a wry half-smile, and a glance at Jim’s leg, Blair replied, “I need a shower. Mind if I go grab some of your sweats?”

“No,” Jim said. “I’ve, uh, I’ve been sleeping down here this week. Saves wear and tear goin’ up and down the stairs two or three times a day. If it’s okay with you, you can take my bed.”

“Oh, hey, I can crash on the couch.”

“Sandburg, you look like hell. I don’t think you’ve had a decent night’s sleep since you moved into that place. Do us both a favor and just take the bed.”

Lifting his hands in surrender, Blair laughed softly as he turned away to trudge up the steps. “Okay, you win. I’m too tired to argue about it.”

Half an hour later, he was sprawled in Jim’s bed. Closing his eyes, he thought about how often he’d imagined himself there – but he’d never imagined that he’d be there alone. He wanted to think that Jim had chosen to sleep in his room for the past week in order to be close to him, to his scent, but he knew how stupid it was to torment himself with wild hopes and impossible dreams. Tackling the steps more than once a day to get fresh clothing was just too much for Jim’s leg. That was all. Simple as that. Sighing, he curled onto his side and buried his face in Jim’s pillow.

Before he was finally able to relax into sleep, he wondered if Jim would ever know how very good he’d gotten at hiding his feelings. Or at least the ones he didn’t dare ever reveal.

**

Blair was stiff and sore when he when he woke hours later. His face ached and his gut still felt tender. One eye was so swollen that he could barely see out of it. Stifling a groan, he forced himself up and slowly made the bed. Avoiding the mirrors, not particularly wanting to see the livid bruises, he limped across the floor to rifle through Jim’s closet and dresser, and got dressed. They were pretty much of a size in shoulders and waist, but he had to roll up the cuffs of the jeans and shove up the sleeves of the sweatshirt. Nothing like the beaten-up-waif-look to inspire confidence and influence others, he thought with resigned amusement. When he heard Jim moving around downstairs, he asked, “You want me to bring a change of clothes down for you? Save you a trip?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jim called back.

He grabbed what was needed and headed downstairs to his bedroom. Handing over the clothing, he said, “I’ve got to call Orvelle. And, um, I’ll need to borrow the keys I gave you to get back inside. Mine are in the office.”

Jim frowned as he pulled on his jeans. Eying Blair’s spectacular bruises, he observed dryly, “You look like you went one too many rounds with Rocky, Chief. Maybe you should just take it easy today.”

“I’m fine,” Blair returned, though he fingered his jaw delicately.

“I’m not sure you –”

“I’m going back there,” he cut in with flat determination. “They aren’t going to drive me off.”

Though he didn’t look happy about it, Jim shrugged and let it go. He pulled a sweatshirt over his head and waved Blair toward the kitchen. “I’ll make coffee and rustle up some food while you check in.”

Ten minutes later, Blair hung up the phone just as Jim was dishing up scrambled eggs. He poured the coffee and buttered the toast, and they sat down to eat. After his first bite, trying not to wince when he chewed, Blair decided toast wasn’t the best idea and concentrated on the soft eggs. Jim flicked him an assessing look but didn’t say anything, for which Blair was grateful. He felt like hell, but he’d be damned if he’d let the Flames think they’d won.

“Well, as you heard, the cops have finished with the place and I can get back in,” he said.

Jim lifted his mug and sipped. Setting it down, he replied matter-of-factly, “I’m going with you. I’ll sleep over there tonight.”

Blair snorted. But at the aggrieved expression on his friend’s face, he cajoled, “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the thought. But I’m a little old to need a baby-sitter. It could be weeks before Orvelle finds a replacement for me, and you can’t be there all the time. It’s my job, Jim. I have to handle this.”

“You’re handling it just fine, Sandburg,” Jim observed mildly. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to sleep there tonight, and we’ll see how it goes after that. I’m not convinced that anybody needs to be there all night, every night. The neighborhood survived before you moved in last week and they’ll survive if you move out.”

When Blair opened his mouth to argue, Jim lifted a palm to stop him. “Don’t get all stubborn on me. The Flames have declared war. We’ve had one murder and that’s already one too many. I know you’re scared to be there on your own – you’d be stupid not to be, and you’re not a stupid man. You don’t carry, Chief. You’ve got no defense if they come after you. You do your thing, serve the community. And I’ll do mine.”

“Jim, that place is a fortress when it’s all locked up, and the security system sends an alert straight to the PD if anyone tries to break in. Seriously, man, I’m fine there alone at night. So, how about a compromise, because I can’t say that I’m not nervous about what they might pull when the place is open for business,” he admitted. “Come back with me and stay until I lock up, just like you’ve done all week. And, at least as long as you’re on leave, be back when I open up in the morning. You’re not made of iron, Jim. You need your rest, too, if that leg is going to heal right. And, besides,” he added with a small grin, “we both know Joel’ll have insisted on either frequent patrols or a watch overnight, and he’s got the authority to do it because the case is now with Major Crime. He’s not going to risk more trouble, either, right?”

When Jim hesitated, he pushed softly, “If I’m gonna be your full partner soon, you can’t keep seeing me as the civilian observer you have to protect. You’ve got to trust my judgment and … and let me handle things.” He paused. “If it makes you feel better, you can lend me your spare piece when you leave at night. I’ll be carrying my own weapon soon; might as well get used to it.”

The muscle in Jim’s jaw throbbed as he grappled with his desire to protect and Blair’s need to stand on his own. Abruptly, he pushed his half-eaten meal away. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.” Drilling Blair with his hard gaze, his tone was uncompromising as he stipulated, “But you’re going to talk to Orvelle about changing the arrangements, at least until we neutralize the current threat.”

“Deal,” Blair agreed. “The Jags’re playing out of town tonight but he said he’d come in tomorrow. I’ll talk to him then.”

Jim’s gaze flicked over his face and it was clear he still wasn’t comfortable, but he nodded. Picking up his plate, he limped into the kitchen to wash up. Before they left for the Center, he pulled out his ankle holster and spare weapon and handed them to Blair, who soberly strapped them on.

**

When they arrived by cab at the Center, they found a number of their regulars loitering around the entrance, including half the basketball players and Angie, the young adolescent and her friends who Jim had talked with the afternoon before.

“Hey!” Blair called as he stepped out on the sidewalk, and smiles lit the kids’ faces.

“Oh, you’re okay,” Angie called, anxiously eying the bruises on his face. “We were worried about you when we heard there was a murder here last night.”

“Yeah, and we were scared the Center might be closing,” one of the basketball players added, his voice cracking between the baritone he was growing into and his younger self’s light tenor.

“I’m fine, thanks, and as soon as I unlock the door, we’re open for business,” Blair assured them, touched by their concern and delighted by their continuing interest in participating in activities, despite the ugliness of what had happened.

While Blair chatted with the youngsters and drew them toward the entrance, Jim paid off the cabbie and glanced around the street. His gaze narrowed when he spotted several members of the Flames watching the Center and looking none too happy to see Blair opening it up again. Chewing on his lip thoughtfully, he followed Blair and the kids inside.

Everyone paused in awkward silence when they saw the stark outline on the floor where Andy had died. “It’s okay,” Blair said in a quiet voice, reaching out to lightly grip Angie’s shoulder as he looked around at all of them. “I know it’s tough to lose somebody you knew, especially suddenly and, well, violently.”

“Andy was pretty screwed up,” one of the players mumbled, as if he wasn’t sure he should say anything bad about someone who was dead. The other kids nodded in agreement and he relaxed a little. “An’ he’s not the first guy from ‘round here who, well, who’s OD’d or got hisself whacked.”

Blair and Jim exchanged glances, and Blair could see his friend regretted as much as he did that kids had to grow up with such grim realities. But standing around the outline on the floor wasn’t helping anything. To distract the kids, Blair said, “Okay, tell you what. Why don’t you guys go get busy in the gym or the games room and I’ll clean this up. If any of you want to talk about what happened or about other stuff that’s happened around here, we can do that when I’m done.”

“Sounds good, Munchkin,” one of the tall, gangly players agreed, and gave him an impish grin.

“You gonna play with us again, Detective Jim?” Angie asked hopefully.

“Absolutely,” Jim assured her with a warm smile. “Come on, let’s see what other games are on the shelves in there.”

Blair watched his friend limp down the hall, surrounded by chattering kids who clearly idolized him, and smiled fondly. Jim was really good with them; he made them feel safe. And Blair thought the kids were good for him, too. Jim didn’t get much chance to just play and laugh on a daily basis.

**

The Center gradually filled with kids during the rest of the afternoon, and even more showed up over the evening. Joel dropped in, both to volunteer for a couple hours and to bring Jim and Blair up to date on the case. They were still trying to track down the gang member from the security tape but the Flames were on notice that the cops were now seriously involved. He hoped that might cool off their aggression, at least for a while.

The Center closed at ten PM. Instead of heading out at the same time, Jim asked, “You got a beer up in your fridge?”

“Sure, man,” Blair affirmed. “I’ll go get a couple.”

“Nah, I think my leg is good enough to try the stairs tonight. I’d like to see the place,” Jim replied.

“Okay, come on up.”

Jim took it slow. He found the continuing stiffness and ache an irritant, but felt he’d improved a lot since he’d gotten out of the hospital. Upstairs, he looked around with interest, approving the simplicity and casual comfort of the furnishings. Blair brought two beers into the living room, waving Jim to a chair while he settled on the couch.

“The kids around here are sure resilient,” Blair observed. “Gotta be rough, growing up in a tough neighborhood like this one.”

“Yeah,” Jim agreed absently as he grappled with laying out his reasons for not heading home as usual.

Blair studied him as they sat in comfortable silence, sipping on their beers, and then said, “You said the other day there was more stuff you wanted to talk about, but everything’s been so hectic since ….”

Looking up at him, his expression giving nothing away, Jim nodded slowly. “Yeah, there is,” he agreed, but he hesitated and his gaze fell. “It’s late, and all that can wait.”

Shifting in his chair, he again met Blair’s eyes. “There’s something else. Earlier today, you made the point that we’re going to be partners and that, uh, I need to back off, be less … protective. But you’re the one who’s always making the point that I shouldn’t be racing off to do stuff on my own. That partners back each other up. And you’re right. That’s what being partners means. So … so I’m gonna renege on our deal. I’m staying here tonight; make sure you’ve got backup if you need it.”

Before Blair could object, he hurried on. “This isn’t about not trusting you or thinking you can’t handle yourself. I saw the Flames watching the place when we arrived. Joel says he hopes they’ll cool their jets, but I don’t think that’s likely to happen. If anything, opening the place back up today will only get their goat. So I’m going to stay tonight, and after you talk to Orvelle tomorrow, we’ll see where we go from there.”

Blair’s eyes had narrowed and his jaw had set stubbornly as he listened. He sat for a long moment, not speaking. But then he looked away, his gaze roaming the small apartment, and his expression was thoughtful. “Okay,” he finally replied. “Guess I’m not used to the idea of you backing me up, but yeah, yeah, you’re right. And if you’re staying, I won’t be needing this,” he went on as he bent to take off the ankle holster and then handed it and the weapon it contained to Jim. Meeting Jim’s gaze, a smile flickering around the corners of his mouth, he added, “You take the bed – and no arguments about that. I’ll be more comfortable out here on the couch than you would be.”

“Works for me,” Jim agreed as he took his spare weapon, relieved to get such an easy agreement. Another thought flashed through his mind and he asked, “Any chance you got some popcorn?”

“Popcorn?” Blair echoed, blinking in confusion at the sudden change of subject. “Um, no, why? You want something to eat?”

“No, no it was just something Joel said. Nevermind, it’s not important,” Jim demurred. Glancing at his watch, he said as he got up, “It really is late and we need to be up early, right? Place opens officially at what? Nine AM?”

“Yeah,” Blair replied as he stood and took Jim’s empty bottle. “There’re clean towels in the cupboard in the bathroom. Make yourself at home, man.”

**

Later, after Jim was settled in his bed, Blair made up his temporary nest on the couch, turned off the lights and crawled under the blankets. Curling on his side, bunching up his pillow, he thought about how really aggravating it was getting to be to have Jim Ellison in his bed … and not to be there with him. But warmth filled him and he smiled when he recalled Jim’s words about partnership and backing him up, and of the implicit message of equality that Jim had conveyed. It wasn’t just all about him backing Jim up anymore and, somehow, that made him feel really good. Closing his eyes, he wondered what it was that Jim still wanted to talk about, and why it was taking him so long to get around to whatever it was. His smile widened as he told himself that it was just really good that Jim was finally, _finally_ opening up without having to be cajoled and prodded into it.

And he was here, with him. Had been with him pretty much since Jim had gotten out of the hospital. Had been showing, day by day, that he _wanted_ Blair in his life.

That was a whole lot more than Blair had had a week before. When he thought about how he’d been so mesmerized by the water at the harbor just before Orvelle had called, he shivered. Life was still a rollercoaster ride but at least, instead of feeling as if he was hurling into an abyss, he knew with certainty that he was back on the right track. In less than six months, he’d be home and working as Jim’s permanent partner – something he’d thought impossible a week ago, and everything he so much wanted.

**

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Jim lay on a bed belonging to his roommate and listened to that roommate fall asleep. With a poignant, bittersweet joy, he was glad to be so close again, but wished he was closer still. Twice that evening he’d nearly confessed how he felt: when Blair had offered him the opening and later, when he’d asked about the popcorn. He’d figured out that Joel was trying to give him a message and, since he knew very well how he felt about Blair, he wondered if Joel saw something of the same in Blair for him. But he’d hesitated. And he wasn’t sure why. Just, the kid had been through so much that day and Blair was probably going to move back home after that night. They had lots of time to cross those bridges.

He sure _hoped_ Blair would want to cross that particular bridge. He _knew_ , with no doubt, that Blair loved him and had loved him for a long time, as a friend, as a brother. Over the years, they’d become one another’s family, closer than they were to their blood kin. Blair had sacrificed his past in that press conference to give them a future and Blair had said he … that he hadn’t ever wanted to leave the loft. But was that friendship talking? How could he tell if Blair was _in love_ with him?

God help him, for months he’d even used his senses to try to figure out if Blair was aroused by him. But it was damned hard to tell. Blair was in the prime of his sexual life and he was half-aroused most of the time; in the mornings almost always when he woke, often during the night as he dreamed, and Jim got whiffs when they were out on the street or in the office – but some woman might have captured his partner’s attention or thoughts.

And he’d never smelled another man on Blair, not once in all their years together. So, he didn’t know, couldn’t be sure. In the absence of certainty, he only had the courage to reveal his own desire because Blair was so accepting, so open to nearly everything and everyone, so nonjudgmental. If Blair didn’t return his feelings, he wouldn’t get all freaked out. He might feel sorry that he couldn’t reciprocate, and Jim dreaded seeing that compassion in his eyes, that awareness that his decision would bring Jim grief, but Blair wouldn’t hate him or reject him as a friend.

Jim’s greatest fear, worse than seeing compassion or even pity in Blair’s eyes, was that the kid was so giving, so generous, especially toward him, that Blair might agree to a relationship simply to please him. Blair … Blair might try to give him pleasure even if it wasn’t what Blair desired. Jim didn’t want that. He wanted it all or, or he’d just have to live with what they had: friendship, an affinity so powerful that it defied explanation or definition. He’d just have to hope that someone didn’t come along someday who would offer Blair more and entice him away.

Sighing, he let his worries and wishes drift because there was nothing he could do about them that night. The good news was that, after a week of uncertainty, of not knowing if or when Blair would really come back to him, of not having a clue as to how to overcome the barriers to them working together, things were going to be fine. Blair had fixed it all during the conversation with Haas the afternoon before.

What he could do was revel in the fact that he was surrounded by Blair, his scent, the sounds of his breathing and heartbeat as he lay in Blair’s bed. Taking a deep breath, he allowed himself to simply go with his arousal, his hand straying to his warmth and his mind evocating visions of what might yet be. His breath shortened and he covered himself with the cloth he’d brought from the bathroom. He came hard in Blair’s bed, with Blair’s name on his lips.

 _You’ve got to tell him_ , he thought muzzily, as he drifted off. _You’ve got to tell him soon._

**

Jim woke to the scent and sound of frying bacon. Stretching in the bed, he was pleased that his leg hardly ached at all. Enormously content to be beginning the day in Blair’s company, he got up and pulled on his jeans. Wandering out to the kitchen, he found Blair, garbed in loose boxers and sleeveless T-shirt, leaning over the sink to fill the coffee carafe with water. Jim’s mouth went dry at the sight of the taut lines of Blair’s body, and his wild, uncombed and shower-damp hair. Fighting the tightness in his chest, he dragged in a deep breath to steady himself, and pasted a smile on his face as he said, “Good morning. Smells good.”

Blair looked over his shoulder to return the smile and the greeting as he went on filling the coffee machine before moving to the refrigerator to pull out a carton of eggs. The domesticity, the comfort Blair had in his presence, stirred him and filled him with gratitude. “Huh?” he asked, realizing Blair had said something and he’d missed it.

“Do you want to grab a shower while I scramble the eggs? There’s time.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Good idea,” he muttered, though he’d just as soon stand there and drink in the sight of his partner. Blair gave him a bemused look, and Jim figured his friend thought his muddled manner was only because he was still half asleep. Chagrined, forcing himself to turn away, Jim headed into the bathroom and turned on the faucet in the tub. A cold shower was probably a _really_ good idea.

By the time he’d showered and pulled his clothes on, Blair had dressed and was putting the food on the table. The simple act of sitting down to eat breakfast together felt so right to him, so natural, he wondered how he could have taken such routine so much for granted for so long. Wondered how he couldn’t have been conscious of the easy contentment he felt in Blair’s company or realized sooner how bereft he’d be without the man in his life.

“Did Orvelle say when he’d be here today?” Jim asked as he eagerly dug in.

“Early this afternoon,” Blair replied as he filled their glasses with the guava juice Jim liked. Even that struck Jim as perfect and, somehow, touching. Blair hadn’t had any way of knowing Jim would ever be here for breakfast, but his favorite juice was on hand … just in case, maybe? Or because Blair had grown used to buying what he liked? As he bit into a piece of toast, Jim told himself with no little self-disparaging amusement that he had it bad. Real bad.

When they finished eating, he helped with the cleanup, and then they went downstairs. Blair continued past the office to the games room, and Jim wondered what he was doing. When his partner reappeared moments later with a paint can and brush in his hands, he remembered the routine.

“First duty of the morning,” Blair said with a wry grin. “Paint over the stuff the Flames scrawl on the outside wall overnight.”

“Right.” Jim followed his friend to the door and, while Blair got to work, he leaned against the frame as he watched the street. It was quiet, with little traffic on an early Sunday morning, and no one in a rush to get anywhere. Some kids were playing on the sidewalk halfway down the block. A man sat on his front stoop, drinking coffee and reading his paper. He heard mothers in apartments over the storefronts calling kids to wake up and get dressed for church. The neighborhood was poor and it had its problems with lawlessness but, over the past week, getting to know the kids, he’d found a lot of good there. A lot of hope for the future. A lot of decency.

Watching Blair, he thought about how good his partner was with the kids. Blair obviously really enjoyed his job. Then he frowned, wondering if Blair would get as much pleasure out of being a cop or a consultant with the PD. Reflectively, he thought about how he, too, had enjoyed so much of the past week, spending time with the kids, doing a bit of coaching, a bit of encouraging along paths toward healthy life choices. He’d gotten a kick out of their laughter as they’d played games and teased one another – and him, the cheeky little brats. Crossing his arms, he found himself musing about how different a life it would be, working and building toward a better future rather than chasing down the criminals that darkened their world. Seeing kids smiling and not crying, alive and vibrant and not dead of ODs or violence.

Blair was nearly finished covering the last of the spray-painted curses and insults down near the end of the building. He lifted his eyes to again scan the street and realized that, for the first time, there wasn’t a single gang member in sight. Stiffening, doubting that the rousting by cops searching for the kid who planted the drugs would be enough to scare them off, he wondered why none of them were hanging around. Frowning, Jim shook his head. The graffiti pretty much proved there’d been no overnight surveillance and the Flames were still watching closely enough to evade the increased patrols.

A souped-up old Ford mustang was cruising slowly down the street, and he caught a glimpse of red in the darkened interior. Instinctively, he reached for the weapon strapped to the small of his back, and was drawing it out when he saw the muzzle of an automatic weapon protrude from the passenger window.

“Chief!” he shouted with rough urgency. “DOWN!”

He was bringing his pistol up as the sound of racketing bullets ripped through the morning quiet, and then he was shooting. The spraying bullets abruptly stopped as the shooter jerked back and slumped on the seat, and the driver gunned the car, accelerating fast to get away.

Smoothly twisting his body to follow it, nearly oblivious to the dull protest from his leg, he shot out one of the tires. The speeding car swerved out of control and rolled before it crashed into a light pole. Watching closely, he pulled out his cell and called 911 for backup and an ambulance.

Flicking a glance at his partner, he was relieved to see Blair pushing himself up from the sidewalk. “You okay?” he demanded when he finished the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket, still watching the overturned car for signs of life. He focused his hearing, listening for heartbeats, and then holstered his pistol. Those two young gangsters wouldn’t be bothering anyone again.

“Man, that was close,” Blair gasped, still recovering from the burst of fear at Jim’s shout and the sound of bullets whizzing too close. Grimacing, he rolled his shoulders against an ache in his back, figuring he’d pulled a muscle or two when he’d twisted and dived toward the pavement. “I never expected them to try anything on the street in broad daylight.”

Coming to stand beside Jim, he looked over at the wrecked car. “Dead?” he asked softly when he saw Jim put his weapon away.

“Yeah,” he replied, his expression grim as he gazed at the wreck. His nose twitched as he caught the scent of blood and he regarded the splatters on the shattered windshield balefully.

Blair coughed and his gasped, “What the …?” drew Jim’s attention and he looked at Blair, saw him gaping at the splash of blood on his hand.

Alarm spiked and Jim reached out to grip Blair’s shoulders, turning him around, and his eyes widened at the sight of the crimson stains spreading over his partner’s shirt. “You’ve been shot – twice,” he grated, feeling breathless.

“What? You’re kidding.” Blair twisted his head, trying to see over his shoulder. “But – it doesn’t hurt,” he protested in astonishment.

“Not yet. Just give it a few minutes and it’ll hurt like hell,” he said, pulling up Blair’s shirt to check the wounds. Blood was streaming thickly down Blair’s back. Endorphins and adrenaline were probably blocking his partner’s perceptions, but the natural numbing wouldn’t last for long. Blair coughed again, and his breathing seemed suddenly raspier. “You need to sit down,” he urged and, his arm around Blair’s shoulders, he helped him ease down to the sidewalk.

“How bad?” Blair asked, growing pale as shock set in.

“Bad enough,” Jim replied tersely, ignoring his bad leg as he knelt on one knee to support Blair against his body. “Two bullets and one clipped a lung. Just take it easy, Chief. I’ve already called for an ambulance.”

Blair’s breathing hitched and he coughed again, a long, racking spasm that left him gasping with blood-speckled lips. Fear bloomed on his face and in his eyes as he twisted, trying to get away from erupting pain, and he bit off a low moan.

“Easy, Chief. Easy,” Jim murmured as he wrapped one arm tightly around his partner, hugging him close, and wiped the blood from Blair’s mouth. Shifting, he pressed his hand against Blair’s back to apply pressure to the wound he figured was the worst, but he knew he wasn’t doing much good. Blair’s shirt was already sodden and sticky with blood.

People were appearing on the street, curious and frightened by the shooting. The young girl, Angie, ran up beside them. “Is Mister Sandburg okay?” she demanded anxiously.

“No, honey, he’s hurt,” Jim told her, amazed to hear himself sound so calm when he wanted to scream with fear and fury. “Listen, could you run inside and get me a couple towels from the shower room? Bring ‘em back real fast?”

She was gone before he finished asking, racing past him into the Center.

“Jim, I don’t feel so good,” Blair wheezed, sounding scared.

“I know,” he soothed as he tucked Blair’s head under his chin. “Don’t talk, okay? Just concentrate on breathing.” _Where the hell’s the ambulance?_ Jim wondered frantically, as he listened with growing desperation to the hammering of Blair’s heart and the worsening sounds of his damaged lung. “Angie!” he yelled. He _had_ to try to stop the hemorrhaging.

She dashed out of the building, holding two thick, clean towels out to him. “Is this enough? I can bring more.”

“No, this is good, thanks sweetheart,” he murmured, forcing himself to act calmly as he took the linens. Easing Blair forward, he supported him against his chest as he pulled up Blair’s shirt and pressed the thick towels against his back, hoping to clot the flow of blood. Cocking his head, he caught the faint keening wail of sirens in the distance. “Help’s on the way, Chief. Be here soon, okay?”

Blair nodded slowly against his chest, and then another violent coughing spell took him, leaving him panting raggedly for breath.

“You’re okay,” Jim chanted, while he held the linens against the wounds. “You’re okay. Just breathe slow and shallow.”

“J-Jim?” Blair gasped, his voice frighteningly faint. “I, I … I feel like I’m falling. And ‘m cold.”

“Shh, I know. Don’t try to talk. I’ve got you, Blair. You’ll be okay, buddy. You’ll be okay.”

Blair _would_ be all right. He had to be. Jim couldn’t bear to believe otherwise. But he could hear Blair’s heart beating harder and faster, skipping beats, and the thick, wet, wheezing of air in Blair’s right lung was getting worse. Blair’s arm snaked around his waist and he felt Blair grasp his shirt, holding on, holding on so tight.

Angie disappeared and then was suddenly back with a blanket that she draped over Blair. “To keep him warm,” she whispered, sounding scared.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Jim choked, touched by her gentleness. Tears burned in his eyes as he pressed his lips down upon Blair’s cold, clammy temple. “Hold on, Chief,” he ordered desperately, unable to hold his own terror at bay any longer.

Blair’s grip on his shirt fell away as his partner slumped against him. Scared, he tilted Blair’s face up and shifted him, lifting his shoulders higher to ease his increasingly labored breathing. Blair was so pale, like a ghost, his dusky lashes and the bruises startlingly dark against his skin. He was losing too much blood, sinking into shock.

“Don’t,” he pleaded with a fast, broken whisper as he cupped Blair’s cheek, his thumb along Blair’s jaw. “Don’t let go. You hear me? Sandburg! Don’t let go!”

Angie rubbed his shoulder, giving wordless comfort as she stood beside him and waited with him for help to arrive. “Don’t be scared,” she murmured, though her own voice was shaking. “He’s brave. He … he won’t give up. Heroes never stop doing their best. Even when they’re hurt, right? They keep fighting.”

His breath a shuddering sob in his chest, he nodded jerkily and clutched Blair closer. “He’s a fighter, alright,” he husked. “Bravest man I ever met.”

The sirens grew steadily closer, more strident, as a crowd gathered around them. A stranger said, “Don’t worry; we’ll watch the place for you. You go with him to the hospital.” Distracted and distantly grateful, he nodded, but all he cared about was the man in his arms, the man slipping away no matter how tightly Jim held onto him.

Finally, with a squeal of brakes the ambulance pulled up, two patrol cars with it. The EMTs appeared and eased Blair away from him, to lay him flat on the sidewalk. They worked quickly, intubating him and hooking him up to an oxygen tank, and starting an IV.

A cop drew Jim upright and a pace away, asked what had happened. He gave fragmented answers, too focused on Blair, on his heartbeat and the care he was being given, to concentrate on other details.

Little Angie, who had been playing on the street nearby when it happened, pulled on the uniformed cop’s arm. “I can tell you. I saw it all,” she said earnestly. “That car over there drove past, shooting a lot of bullets and Jim shot back. Then the car crashed. But some of their bullets hit Blair and he’s hurt real bad.”

And then they were lifting Blair onto the gurney, the upper half of it raised to keep him from drowning in his own blood. The EMTs swiftly covered him with a blanket and strapped him securely before rolling the gurney to the ambulance. Jim climbed in behind. The rear door slammed shut and, sirens wailing, they were soon careening through the streets to the hospital.

“How long since he was shot?” the paramedic in the back with him asked calmly.

“Uh, I don’t know. Ten, fifteen minutes, maybe,” Jim told him shakily, finding it hard to breathe as he gripped his friend’s hand and listened to Blair’s failing heart.

The technician relayed the information and Blair’s vital signs to the hospital. “We’re about seven minutes away,” he finished and returned to monitoring Blair’s pulse and blood pressure. “They’ll probably take him straight to the OR,” he told Jim as he started a second IV to force fluids in an effort to mitigate blood loss. “He’s got a good chance.”

Jim nodded mutely. He’d been telling himself the same thing, over and over. The Golden Hour, they called it. If a badly wounded person could be gotten to surgery within an hour of the assault, their chances for recovery were good. If they didn’t bleed out, the odds were they’d survive. His grip tightened around Blair’s lax hand.

He hadn’t told him. Why had he kept putting it off? Why the hell hadn’t he told Blair he loved him? Closing his eyes, listening to the faltering heart, he prayed fervently that he hadn’t left it too long; that it wasn’t too late.

**

The EMTs ran the gurney through the lobby and, led now by a nurse, into a small treatment room where Blair was swiftly transferred onto the examining table. Jim hovered just inside the doorway, thankful that everyone’s attention was fixed on helping his partner, all of them too busy to take notice of him. Two were cutting off Blair’s clothing and tossing the blood-soaked garments into a biohazard bin, one was monitoring his oxygen intake, while another switched the clear intravenous liquid with what he assumed was O negative blood until they could type and cross-match Blair’s blood. God knew, a lab technician was taking more vials of Blair’s precious blood than Jim was comfortable with.

A portable x-ray machine was rolled in and shots were taken of his back, chest, and abdomen. Blood was washed away and his back was quickly shaved before a Betadine solution was painted over his skin, coloring it garishly orange. But blood kept leaking from the wounds.

Jim kept glancing at the clock on the wall, counting the minutes down. As fast as they were working, more than forty-five minutes had already elapsed since Blair had been shot.

“Allergies?” someone snapped at him, letting him know they’d noticed him there after all.

“None,” he replied.

“He’s got a lot of facial and body bruising,” the doctor observed with a glance at him.

“He was beaten two nights ago,” Jim supplied.

“Was he checked out?”

“No, he said he was fine, and he seemed okay – no confusion, nothing like that.”

The doctor nodded briskly, and turned back to her efforts to staunch the flow of blood from Blair’s wounds.

“Next of kin?” a nurse asked.

“Me – I can sign whatever’s necessary.”

She grabbed a clipboard with a release form for surgery on it. He took it from her and a pen, and hastily filled in Blair’s name, his own, and signed it.

“Different last name?” she challenged. “Insurance?”

“I’m his partner. I have his Power of Attorney. He’s covered and I’ll give all the necessary information to Admitting soon as you’re done here.”

She nodded, turned to grab the sack in which they’d put Blair’s personal belongings, and handed it to him before bustling away to put the form into the chart that was fast being assembled.

And then Blair was being wheeled past him as the staff hurried to get him to the Operating Room. He looked up at the clock. At least fifty-six minutes had passed.

Though he wanted to do nothing more than follow, he forced himself to go to the Admitting desk to answer their interminable questions. When they finally finished with him, he turned away and was surprised to see Joel standing there, watching and listening anxiously.

“Dispatch called me,” he explained tersely. “How bad is it?”

“Two rounds in the back and bleeding into a lung,” Jim told him. “They took him up to the OR a few minutes ago.”

Joel searched his face. “How’re you doin’?”

Looking away, Jim shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know. Depends on what happens next.”

Gently but insistently taking him by the arm, Joel drew him down the hall. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a coffee. You look like you need it.”

Regarding him bleakly, Jim sighed and allowed himself to be drawn along.

When they were settled at a table in one corner, they sat for some minutes, lost in thought and worry. Jim stared into his mug, too scared to think straight, wishing he’d told Blair how he felt, wondering how Blair really felt about him. But then he stirred restlessly and darted a look at Joel before resuming his scrutiny of the cooling coffee. He took a shaky breath and forced past the tightness of his throat, “That, uh, crack about watching the security tapes. You think … you think Sandburg is … interested?”

Compassion in his eyes, Joel smiled sadly. “Despite how he used to chase anyone in a skirt, I’m more sure about him than I am about you. He’s a lot easier to read. Hasn’t learned how to hide what he feels.”

Jim frowned and leaned back against the chair. “Wouldn’t you think I’d notice?”

“We figure you just didn’t want to,” Joel replied quietly. “Easier that way, when one wants something the other doesn’t.”

“We?” Jim echoed, with a sharp look. “You talk about us? About that?”

Shrugging, well used to Ellison glares and unfazed by them, Joel sipped his coffee. “People talk, Jim. You know that. Be surprised if you’ve never picked up on any of the rumors in the PD over the years. We just made sure we never talked about it while you were anywhere in the building. Didn’t want to turn around and find you standing there. None of us has a death wish.”

His glare fading, Jim went back to staring into his coffee. “I’ve heard,” he admitted. “Never much cared what other people thought, not about that, anyway. Didn’t think it mattered. Sandburg … Sandburg’s only been out with women since I’ve known him. I just figured everyone was imagining things, because of how he looks, the earrings.”

Joel leaned his elbows on the table and seemed to be trying to decide what to say, or maybe how to say it. “Jim,” he finally began, “this is nobody’s business but yours and Blair’s. But … well, if there’s nothing going on, that’s a surprise. Man, the two of you have _no_ personal space. You lean into one another. Touch all the time. Always have, right from when he first showed up.”

When Jim just looked away, Joel settled back and went on, “You squabble like an old married couple and the affection you feel for one another shines in your faces. Sure, it could be just a damned good friendship but … he gave up everything for you. To protect you. And when you went missing a year ago, he was frantic, pushing Simon around, insisting that you were in trouble.”

Joel sighed and rubbed his mouth. “When … when we nearly lost him six months ago, I heard you were crazy with grief and denial, and that you wouldn’t quit, even when the EMTs gave up. I heard you brought him back to life, just by touching him. That’s not like any friendship I’ve ever seen. Maybe it’s just all part of this … well, you know what I mean,” he added with a wary look around to see if anyone was close enough to hear them. Sighing, he shook his head. “Like I say, it’s no one’s business but yours. I just hope for your sakes, if it is more, that the two of you won’t waste all the time you have.”

The muscles of Jim’s face, jaw and neck tightened. He could do no more than nod jerkily as he wondered how in hell he could have been so blind as to miss what Joel and the others thought they could see. Needing something to moisten his mouth and wash away the thick lump in his throat, he picked up the mug of coffee and drank it down. When he could at last speak, he said hoarsely, “Thanks, Joel. You’re a good friend.”

Looking around the cafeteria, Joel asked, “Did you know he called the CPU earlier this week, to report the vandalism by the Flames, and to ask for a heightened watch level?”

His attention piqued by the abrupt change of subject, Jim looked up. “I know he reported it. Why?”

“I had H check out the patrol schedule, to see if any of the uniforms had noticed the Flames hanging around. You know, to get background on tying them into the frame-up.” He hesitated, then went on. “There were no extra patrols assigned, not when he called, and not when I called earlier. In fact, Shaunnessey Street doesn’t show up on their watch list at all.”

“What?” Jim exclaimed, his confusion and then anger blossoming in his eyes.

“Looks like they maybe decided to hang ‘im out to dry,” Joel rumbled with evident disgust.

“Sonova …” Jim cursed lividly. “I want this checked out.”

“Already being done,” Joel assured him. He gestured toward Jim’s empty mug. “You want another cup?”

“Nah,” Jim sighed, looking up at the clock on the wall and wondering how long it would be before he’d be able to see Blair. Taking a shaky breath, desperate to distract himself, he returned to the issue Joel had just raised. “It’s like they hate him,” he observed angrily. “Was the same thing in Vice yesterday. Like they want to personally punish him. That anonymous tip just gave them the chance.”

Joel folded his hands together on the table as he listened.

Jim shook his head unhappily. “I know why they’d feel that way. So far as they know, at least until Haas airs his interview, Blair … Blair ….”

His voice fell away and he closed his eyes briefly. “A lot of people never did like him hanging around. Saw him as an interloper, I guess. A dilettante. But to refuse a call for assistance? To beat him up when all he was trying to do was help that dying kid?” he demanded, meeting Joel’s eyes, “That’s … that’s a level of punitive behavior that’s wrong. Hell, even criminals have their rights and we protect them, too, just like every other citizen, whether we like it or not.”

Shaking his head, his gaze growing distant, he said coldly, “I’m not sure I want to be part of an organization that deliberately left an unarmed civilian – who was trying to improve an inner-city community – at risk and then, God, beat him and arrested him on no more than an anonymous tip.”

“Jim, slow down,” Joel urged. “You _know_ a few bad apples don’t mean the whole PD is rotten.”

Jim gazed at him but didn’t respond. Instead, clutching the small sack of Blair’s belongings, he stood and said, “Let’s go upstairs. I want to be there when they’re done.”

“It’s gonna be hours yet,” Joel objected. Lowering his voice, he said firmly, “I don’t want to be close enough for you to listen in. You don’t need that.”

Irritated, Jim scowled, but he couldn’t deny the risk that he’d zone, or that listening would be a kind of torture. Feeling trapped, helpless, he looked around the large, busy room. The clatter of dishes, the noise of countless conversations, the smell of over-steamed food was grating on him. “I need to get some air.”

“Okay, let’s go for a walk,” Joel replied as he, too, stood and followed Jim from the room.

Outside, Jim looked up at the sky, at the gray clouds scudding before the wind, and then he set off, walking aimlessly, not speaking. Joel ambled along beside him, giving him the quiet he needed but making sure he wasn’t alone. They circled the hospital in silence, but Jim kept glancing at the building, fear and hope mingling in his thoughts. To distract himself, he reflected on what Joel had said, about having picked up on the vibes between him and Blair. After an hour, he admitted softly, “You’re right. At least … you’re right about me.”

Joel nodded sadly, understanding how hard the admission was and wishing his friend found it easier to confide, to share his pain, and didn’t always try so hard to keep everything locked down inside. Gently clasping Jim’s shoulder, he murmured, “I figured. You need to tell him.”

Once again Jim’s gaze lifted to the hospital. He swallowed hard and nodded. Then he turned away and continued walking.

When they went back inside two hours later, they took the elevator upstairs. Jim pressed the intercom on the wall beside the closed, restricted-entry double doors, and told whoever answered that he was waiting for word on Blair Sandburg’s condition. He was told to wait in the lounge and someone would talk with him in due course.

Settling in to wait, Joel cautioned again, “Don’t be trying to listen in. He wouldn’t want you to.”

Jim glanced at him and then away, his head tilting unconsciously. He sighed, straightened and nodded. “He’s still alive,” he said. “His heart’s still beating and … and sounds stronger, steadier, than it was.” When Joel grimaced at him, he held up his hands to signal he’d be good and refrain from listening further. Just knowing that Blair was holding his own was enough to hold onto until they learned more. Some of the tension eased in his face and shoulders. “If he made it this far ….”

With a small smile of understanding, Joel filled in, “Then we can be pretty sure he’s gonna be okay. Just needs to heal, is all.”

Poignantly glad that Joel was reinforcing his own hopes, a faint smile played around Jim’s lips.

Less than half an hour later, the surgeon came out to tell them Blair was in Recovery, and would be taken to a room within the hour. “We got to him in time,” the doctor said with satisfaction. “One bullet had lodged in his right lung and the other, after penetrating his left kidney, stopped in his spleen. Unfortunately, we had to remove the spleen, so he’ll need to be careful with any infections in the future, but we’ve repaired the other damage and he’s stabilized. He’ll be sore for a few weeks. But he should heal just fine.”

Jim felt weak with relief. Huge smiles lit both their faces as he and Joel shook the doctor’s hand and thanked him profusely.

Joel slapped his back and said, “Well, I best be getting over to Simon’s place. Give him an update and let ‘im know everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Thanks, Joel. I appreciate you waiting with me until we heard.”

“No sweat,” he replied with warm geniality. “You tell Blair we’ll all be in to visit him, once he’s feeling up to company.”

“I’ll do that,” Jim told him, and watched him walk away.

Alone now for the first time since the shooting, the aftershock swamped him. Shaking, he sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. God, he’d been so scared, so damned scared. Tears burned his eyes and he panted for breath, but he just kept telling himself, over and over, that Blair was alive. Blair was going to be fine. After a few minutes, once he’d regained a measure of control, he stood and went upstairs to wait in Blair’s room, to be there when he was brought in.

**

Blair woke slowly, fading in and out, only distantly catching Jim’s voice, as if in fragments of a dream. But he felt safe, so he just listened to the melodious tones, letting them wash over him, surround him.

Gradually, he became aware that Jim was holding his hand and, with effort, he was able to shift his arm, to link his fingers with Jim’s, but then he faded off again. Some time later, the words slowly grew more distinct, formed into sentences, but it was still too hard to respond so he just listened contentedly.

“Soon as you’re up to it, I want to get away for a few days. Go up to Canada.” Jim’s grip tightened and his voice grew husky, so low that Blair had to strain to hear. “Maybe it’s stupid, I don’t know. But … but I want us to be permanent. I want you to know that … that this isn’t just convenience or a passing fling or … oh, hell, it’s not just about sex, okay?”

His voice faded off and, wondering what the hell Jim was talking about, Blair wrestled with the cotton fog surrounding him and struggled to make sense of the words. Sex was good. Providing Jim wasn’t talking about some woman he’d just met that he wanted to go on holiday with. But … Jim wouldn’t be talking about sex with him, would he? So, well, then sex was very bad. The whole thing was bad. Sorrow flared, filling him, and dreary resignation settled over him. He’d begun to hope again and that was a mistake. Clearly, a _big_ mistake. His grip loosened, and he wondered if he’d just float back into the darkness for a while. Whatever was going on, wherever he was, he didn’t need to hear this.

Jim’s grip tightened on his hand, and he felt the heat of Jim’s palm on his face and … what the hell? Jim’s thumb was brushing lightly over his lips? Dreaming. He had to be dreaming. Good dream, though, so Blair leaned into Jim’s palm, into the warmth and tenderness. And then, so close as if Jim was leaning over him, he heard his friend say softly with a wistful ache that sounded so vulnerable, so hopeful and yet afraid, “I want to marry you, Chief. We can do that there. In Canada. Get married. If you want to. I hope you’ll want to.”

What? Marry? _Marry?_ Jim wanted to marry _him?_

Blair’s breathing caught in stunned disbelief, and then immense joy filled him, flooding him, swamping away everything, all the yearning and longing, all the hurt, sorrow and resignation. _Jim wanted to marry him!_

He felt breathless with incredible surprise and happiness.

Jim felt the same thing he did! Had maybe felt the same way since … since the fountain. But then, wouldn’t he know they were already married in every way that counted? Inseparable in spirit, bound for eternity? Maybe Jim didn’t know. Didn’t know he felt the same. That all he wanted was a lifetime together. Hell, he wanted _forever._

Jim sounded so … uncertain, so anxious. Was he dreaming? He had to be dreaming. What the hell was wrong with him? Jim wouldn’t ever say something like that. Would he? Could … could this be real? He _had_ to know. Had to, had to know, was desperate to know. God, please, don’t let this be a dream.

The fog and the darkness swirled around him. Jim’s voice faded.

No, no. He _had_ to wake up, had to say something, had to ….

He blinked and squinted against the light. Jim was there, leaning so close, looking at him with such unguarded longing and hope. It wasn’t a dream! A smile trembled on Blair’s lips. He had to tell Jim they didn’t have to go to Canada – ‘way too late for that anyway. They _were_ married. Already so married.

“Too late,” he whispered, his voice rough and dry, wispy.

“What?” Jim exclaimed, his voice louder. “Blair? You waking up?”

“Mmm,” he mumbled, blinking heavily, vaguely wishing the light didn’t hurt his eyes. “Heard you. Too late.”

Color drained from Jim’s face, leaving him sickly pale, as Jim gaped at him and then closed his mouth tightly. Sorrow suffused his face before he pulled his palm from Blair’s face as if he’d been burned, and turned away to sink into the chair. Pressing his eyes closed, he bowed his head, but when he tried to pull his hand away, Blair held on.

 _“Already married,_ ” Blair insisted drowsily, frowning in confusion at Jim’s retreat. Finding it hard to breathe because he hurt pretty bad, he took shallow breaths and tried to wake up enough to explain. “Have b’n, f’r _months_ ,” he muttered anxiously, desperate to be understood, to make Jim happy. Whatever Jim wanted, so long as they could be together, always be together. “Was worried, man. Din’ think y’ wanted t’ be. But, if y’ wan’, we c’n make it leg’l.”

Jim jerked and turned back to stare at him, all emotion stripped from his face, all feeling walled behind the wary look in his eyes. Standing, his brow puckering in concern, he laid a palm over Blair’s brow. “You’re sounding delirious, Chief. Must be the drugs.”

Drugs? What drugs? With a tiny shake of his head, Blair gazed up at him and blinked owlishly as he studied his partner’s face. Tenderness filled him at the sight of the uncertainty in Jim’s eyes, and the shadows of anticipated pain. He wanted so _bad_ to make all that hurt go away. Jim was just scared, that was all. He didn’t understand. Didn’t know how much Blair loved him. How very much Blair wanted and needed him. How Blair couldn’t really, not really, live without him. He just needed to explain it, that was all.

God, he wished he wasn’t so damned tired and that he could take Jim in his arms, but for some reason he felt nailed to the bed, and the tendrils of fog in his head made it really hard to think. _Was_ he drugged? Didn’t matter. He just had to tell Jim it was okay. Everything was, finally, finally, _so_ okay now.

With a reassuring smile he hoped wasn’t as fragile he felt, gasping against the tightness in his chest, Blair insisted with earnest care and as much clarity as he could muster, “I h-heard you, man. You pro-posed. ‘s nice, rea-lly nice, man. But … I said, I said ‘yes’ m-months ago. W-when you called me … an’ I came back. ‘member? We m-merged. One, one soul. So’s too late. ‘m _already_ married t’ you.”

Understanding dawned on Jim’s face, followed swiftly by poignant relief and then he smiled, too, with that small, vulnerable, afraid-to-be-happy smile that always made Blair want to hold him safe and kiss him with delirious abandon.

“I remember,” Jim rasped, and swallowed convulsively. “I love you, Chief.” He stroked his hand over Blair’s head, tenderly combing back the curls.

“‘Bout time … you re’lized that,” Blair complained, feeling more and more as if he was adrift in a euphoric dream. “Was beginnin’ t’ wonder … if we were _ever_ … gonna con-consummate it. Wan’ to. Don’ you wan’ to?”

“Yeah, Chief, I want to,” Jim replied fondly, warm humor in his voice. “Just as soon as you’re healed.”

“Good. Shoulda known … _you’d_ wan’ it t’ be _legal_ ,” Blair muttered, aggrieved. He yawned and winced against the annoying pull in his chest and the deep pain in his body. “’Bout time,” he mumbled again, his eyes growing too heavy to stay open. But, he smiled when he felt the tender, feather-light kiss on his lips. “Love you,” he slurred blearily as sleep claimed him.

**

For the next several hours, Jim sat by Blair’s side, patiently feeding him ice chips when he awoke muddled and anxious, complaining of being thirsty and moaning as he twisted against the pain. Murmuring reassurances, Jim soothed him back to sleep with light caresses of his cheek and brow. Blair didn’t seem to have any memory of what had happened, but Jim wrote that off to the combined effects of the anesthesia and the pain medication his partner had been given.

As he stroked Blair’s hair and studied the bruises from the beating he had endured the day before, Jim felt a sense of amazement and profound peace to know Blair loved him – so much that in Blair’s mind, they were already married – though he doubted Blair would remember any of the brief conversation that Jim knew he’d never forget.

Orvelle came in late in the afternoon, his kind features twisted in grief for what had happened. “I’m sorry,” he said to Jim, shaking his head. “I never wanted the boy hurt.”

“I know that, and so does he,” Jim reassured him. “And he’s going to be fine.”

“I’m glad,” the coach replied, though he still looked like he was carrying a load of guilt. “I didn’t realize it had gotten so bad in the old neighborhood. My folks’ve been gone for a long time. I just wanted … I just wanted those kids to have a chance.”

“The Center is a great thing, Orvelle,” Jim insisted. “Those kids love hanging out there. And they’re good kids.” He turned to gaze at Blair. “That’s why the Flames fought back so hard and so fast. That Center is a big threat to them. Gives the people there hope they haven’t had. A good, safe place for their kids to be.”

Wallace chewed on his lip. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt,” he said. “One boy dead; Blair shot.” He shook his head. “Maybe I should just shut it down.”

“Not yet,” Jim argued gently. “Community Policing will be paying close attention after this, and uniformed patrols in the area will be increased. Give the people there a chance to say what they want. When I had to leave with Blair this morning, some guy told me not to worry. Said they’d look after the place.”

Nodding, Orvelle told him, “Well, they did. When I got back from ‘Frisco this afternoon, several of the parents were there, overseeing the kids. They told me what happened.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea for anyone to stay there alone at night,” Jim stated. Though he felt as if he was usurping Blair’s prerogative, it had to be said. “And there should be two staff members there all the time, for security. But I think the place can work and I really think it’s needed.”

“I’ll think on it,” Orvelle sighed. “An’ talk to Blair when he’s feeling better. In the meantime, you tell him I was here – and tell him I’m real sorry he was hurt.”

“I’ll tell him.”

Orvelle shook his hand and, with a last glance at Blair, he said he was heading back down to the Center, to talk to some of the people there.

Two hours after that, when Blair again drifted back to consciousness, he seemed more lucid if also more uncomfortable. Once again, Jim gave him ice chips to ease the dryness of his mouth. Blair looked around the room, a small frown puckering his brow, and he asked, “What the hell happened?”

“The Flames. You got hit in a drive-by while you were painting over the graffiti this morning,” Jim told him. “How’s the pain? You need anything?”

Blair shook his head. “Not yet.” Looking up at Jim, his gaze narrowed and he seemed to be trying to remember. Then, he frowned and his gaze skittered away, his fingers plucking anxiously at the sheet covering him. “I’ve had the oddest dreams,” he revealed, shooting uncertain glances at Jim. “They feel so real, though. Like we’ve been talking. But … just fragments. Don’t make much sense.”

Jim rubbed his chin, wondering what he could say. With a shrug, he decided to go with it. “You mean about telling me we’ve been married for months, and that it’s about time we consummated it?”

Blair’s eyes widened and his lips parted. “I … I said all that?”

“Uh huh,” Jim confirmed, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Really set me straight when I proposed. Said there was no point going to Canada ‘cause we’ve been married for months.”

“Proposed? You, you _proposed_?” Blair stammered, his eyes widening with shock.

“You said you should have known I’d want to make it legal, and you said that was okay, just not really necessary,” Jim went on, trying to keep a straight face but losing the battle. He felt he was taking undue advantage of his partner’s battered condition. Cupping Blair’s cheek, he stated, “I love you, Chief. Took me a while to figure it out and even longer to admit it. I wasn’t sure how you felt. I’m glad to know we’re on the same page.”

“You proposed and I _missed_ it?” Blair asked again, sounding dazed – and immensely regretful.

“Nope, you didn’t miss it – you just don’t remember,” Jim replied, chuckling fondly. “If it makes you happy, I’ll do a repeat performance when you’re feeling better.”

Blair smiled widely then, the light of joy sparkling in his eyes. “Yeah, I’d like that.” For a long moment, he simply gazed at Jim. “I feel like Sally Field,” he said, awe in his voice.

“Sally Field?” Jim echoed, beginning to think Blair wasn’t as lucid as he’d thought.

“Yeah, at the Oscars,” he explained. “You love me. You _really_ love me,” he whispered, as if overwhelmed by the knowledge.

“Yeah,” Jim agreed indulgently, figuring the sweet sappiness was the result of the chemicals still floating around in Blair’s blood. He bent to kiss Blair’s brow, and then his lips. “And you really love me.”

“Damn straight,” Blair affirmed emphatically. His limited energy was already beginning to flag, though. “I … for a while, I thought you didn’t want …” he began uncertainly.

“I know, you told me this afternoon,” Jim cut in. “I’m sorry, Chief. But, I wasn’t sure how you felt, either. Not really. Guess I should have figured it out sooner.” He paused and studied his partner’s wan face, reading the strain, the exhaustion, and the pain of his injuries. He wondered if Blair would remember everything the next time he woke up. Not that it mattered. He’d say it over and over again. Make up for all the months when he should have said it and hadn’t. “Rest, partner. We’ve got lots of time to get used to the idea. Just rest, okay?”

Trustingly, Blair nodded and closed his eyes. But his fingers tightened possessively around Jim’s until he again drifted into sleep. About a half hour later, he jerked into confused wakefulness, muttering as if his mind had been going over and over what had just happened between them. “Can’t tell anyone,” he insisted fretfully. “Could make trouble. Has t’ be secret. Just ‘nother secret.”

“Shh, don’t worry about it, Chief,” Jim reassured him. Not liking the deepening lines around Blair’s mouth and eyes, he buzzed for a nurse and asked if his partner could have something for the pain. She nodded and left. Returning shortly, she gave Blair a shot, and he settled, sinking into a deeper, drug-enhanced sleep.

While Blair slept, Jim relaxed in the chair beside him and thought about what the kid had said. About his fears that their relationship might only cause trouble. Jim really didn’t think there’d be a problem beyond the unacceptable way too many downtown viewed Blair. Hell, it seemed to him that most people thought they’d been an item for years.

But the other thing, the ‘just another secret’ thing, troubled him more. Blair carried a lot of his secrets and had suffered too much to keep them safe. His throat thickened with the knowledge that, even hurt and drugged, Blair’s first thought … his seemingly every thought … was about him. About keeping him safe.

Maybe that’s what love was, real love; a depth of love that was pervasive and all-encompassing – a rich and pure love he’d never experienced before. Sitting in the darkening room, he decided it was time to balance the scales – time for him to be the one who gave more; long past time for him to think about what Blair needed in his life, and not always just assume that Blair would conform to his.

Blair slept until after midnight and, beside him, Jim dozed off in the chair. But when Blair began to stir again, mumbling and muttering, Jim was instantly awake and standing to see if he needed anything.

“Pretty sure of yourself,” Blair was rambling, still half-asleep and sounding feistier than he had on earlier wakings. “Proposed? Huh. Haven’t even been out on dates.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve been living together for years,” Jim replied with a chuckle, amused in spite of himself by his partner’s disgusted tone in his half-awake state.

“Huh?” Blair blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Nothing, Chief.” Jim laid a palm over his brow. “You thirsty? Need something for pain?”

“No, ‘m fine,” Blair replied and yawned. “Sorry I woke you, man,” he murmured as he drifted right back to sleep, clearly not coherent enough to realize he was in hospital.

“Time you stopped being sorry for stuff, Sandburg,” Jim replied affectionately as he adjusted the blankets and then sat down again. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

**

The next morning, Blair was still sleeping when Joel arrived to see how things were going. He brought coffee and a bag of donuts with him. “Figured you might want some breakfast,” he said with a grin, handing them over. “How’s Blair doing?”

“You’re a life saver.” Jim pried off the lid of the coffee container and inhaled deeply before taking an appreciative sip. “He’s been in and out of it. Will probably be more awake today – and feel the pain more, too. Anything new on the case?”

“We finally found the kid that stashed the heroin in the equipment supply room,” Joel replied. With a satisfied smile, he went on, “When we dangled an accessory to murder charge over him, he started singing like a canary. Said he had nothin’ to do with the drugs given to Andy. Said it was all Reefer’s idea – Reginald Coster, the current leader of the Flames. Told us Reefer wanted the Center shut down and that Blair was made-to-order for a frame, what with being a liar and fraud an’ all.”

When Jim winced at that, Joel hastened on, “And that’s all cleared up, too. Haas’ weekly Sunday evening news magazine show broke the story last night. Started off with shots of the Center and Blair, cut to the press conference footage, and then back to Blair’s interview where he explained everything. Man, I wish I’d been there to see that. Anyway, Haas reinforced that the press conference was a scam to get the media off the back of the police and let you do your job. Bastard actually sounded smug about it. Like he’s known all the time. He took some good shots at Rainier. Finished off by telling them they’d better consult their lawyers and congratulating Orvelle, both for setting up the Center and having hired a hero to run the place. The tag was you, telling those kids what a hero Blair is. Was great. You’ll want a copy.”

Jim huffed a tired laugh at that and shook his head.

“Wait, it gets better.” Joel chuckled. “Colin McKenzie, counsel for Rainier, called the office this morning, looking for Blair. Said the university might have something of interest to offer him and said that Rainier certainly regretted having acted so precipitously.”

Lifting his brows in speculation, Jim smiled and nodded. “That sounds promising.”

“And then Berkshire Publishing called,” Joel told him, evidently enjoying the fun of dropping bombshell after bombshell when Jim gaped at him. “They want to talk to Blair about publishing his ‘novel’.”

Grimacing at that, Jim drawled, “They never quit, do they?”

“Apparently not,” Joel agreed. “Getting back to the case, we rounded up most of the Flames late last night. Charged the bunch of them with harassment and conspiracy to commit murder, defacement of property, drug trafficking and a bunch of other stuff. Probably won’t be able to make a case against most of them – their identities are hidden by masks in the security tapes – but we’re serving notice that the Community Center is off-limits.”

Sitting down in the chair near the window, he gave a low laugh before continuing. “H was something to see during the interrogations. He can be pretty intimidating when he wants to be – kept looming over them, growling about how they’d nearly killed a friend of his, and how he didn’t take kindly to that.”

“They’re just damned lucky it was H and not me.”

Nodding wryly, Joel he lifted a hand. “Wish you could have seen Megan when she got into the act. I swear she put the fear of God into those young hoodlums.” Grinning in memory, he shook his head. “Anyway, I think they’ll think twice before messing with the Center again. Oh, and the folks down in the neighborhood? They had a community meeting last night. Told Orville they really hope he’ll keep the Center open, an’ they volunteered to help run the place, makin’ sure there’s always enough staff around to be safe. They passed the hat to collect money for flowers for Blair – they should be arriving sometime today.”

“Sounds like everything is under control,” Jim observed.

Scratching his cheek, Joel shrugged. “For now, I guess. The Flames’ll still be a problem, but at least the Center gives kids another choice of where to hang out, and some positive examples to follow.”

“Coffee? Do I smell coffee?” Blair interjected drowsily and then winced and groaned when he shifted to try to sit up.

“Whoa, slow down, Chief,” Jim cautioned, dropping a light hand on his partner’s shoulder. “You’re not quite ready to sit up yet on your own.”

“Ow, that hurts,” Blair complained as he pressed an arm against his body to splint the pain, and then sniffed again. “Coffee?”

Chuckling, Jim pushed the electronic control to lift the head of the bed a little, and then shared his coffee with Blair. “Not too much,” he directed. “See if your stomach’ll tolerate it.”

Blair sighed blissfully after his long sip, but grimaced again at the sharp, aching pain that filled his body. “Hey, Joel,” he called. “Heard you say the Center is doing okay. I’m glad.” Looking back at Jim, he asked, “How long’ve I been in here, anyway? Everything’s kind of a blur.”

“Not quite twenty-four hours,” Jim told him. “You need something for the pain?”

“Nah,” Blair waved the suggestion off. “Feel too whacked-out and groggy as it is. Could eat, though.”

“Good to see you awake, Blair,” Joel told him, beaming cheerfully. “I gotta be going. I’ll tell the nurse at the desk that you’d like something to eat, okay?”

“Thanks, man,” Blair replied with a grateful smile. “And say ‘hello’ to everyone for me. Tell ‘em I’m doin’ okay.”

“Will do. They’ll be glad to hear it. Catch you later,” Joel returned with a casual wave as he headed out the door.

Jim gave Blair another sip of his coffee and then asked, “Groggy, huh? So – do you remember anything about yesterday?”

Blair yawned. Sniffed and snuggled a little down into his pillow. Gazing up at Jim, his expression happy despite the discomfort he was feeling, he replied seductively, “I don’t know. I might just’ve been dreaming, you know?”

“You really think we should date first?” Jim teased, leaping into the heart of the matter.

His grin widening, Blair shook his head. “We’ve been living together for years.”

“That’s what I said,” Jim stated with an emphatic nod.

“So … you really want to take a ride to Canada?” Blair asked, searching his face.

“Soon as you’re up to the trip, Chief,” Jim affirmed, all trace of teasing gone. “That’s if it’s what you want, too.”

“C’mere, Ellison,” Blair said with mock toughness, “an’ I’ll show you what I want.”

When Jim leaned in close, Blair caught his shirt, pulled him closer … and kissed him lingeringly. Then, he murmured huskily against Jim’s lips, “Get me a wheelchair, man, and I’m good to go right now.”

“Only if you brush your teeth first, Junior,” Jim quipped, wrinkling his nose.

Blair snorted a laugh, only to moan again as he pressed down hard on his body. “Not nice to make the shot guy laugh, Jim,” he chided, but his eyes were sparkling as he kept his grip on Jim’s shirt, keeping him close.

A nurse bustled into the room, and Jim abruptly broke away. But when he saw a shadow flit across Blair’s face, he immediately reached out to take Blair’s hand with clear possessiveness. “We were, uh, just wondering when I can take my guy here home,” he said in a tone that left no room for doubt about what ‘my guy’ meant, even though the words stuck in his throat a bit. Not because he was ashamed or embarrassed, but only because he’d never made a habit of advertising his personal business. Glancing at Blair, he was glad he’d made the effort. If he could win surprised pleasure like what he saw glowing in Blair’s eyes, it was worth learning how to be a little less private.

The nurse lifted a brow but smiled, her expression a bit wistful as she gazed from one man to the other. “Well, that’s up to the doctor,” she said, as she moved in to take Blair’s pulse and blood pressure. “So, you’re hungry, huh?” she asked him. “We’ll try some apple juice and if you can tolerate that, I’ll see if we can rustle you up some eggs. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Blair agreed. “I’m starving.”

Laughing, she patted his arm. “Well, that’s a good sign. A good, uh, _appetite_ is a strong indication that you’re getting better.”

Blair snickered and Jim blushed as she turned and left the room to get her patient some nourishment.

Blair searched Jim’s face. “Is … is going to Canada what you still wanted to talk to me about?”

“Yeah, Chief,” Jim told him, tightening his grip on Blair’s hand. “I want forever, Blair. I want you to always know that’s what I want.”

“Man, that is like – _fantastic_! I was afraid I was the only one who wanted that.” And then he whined, “I can _not_ wait to get out of here.” He looked so distressed about having to wait until he was stronger that Jim couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss him again. Thoroughly.

**

Despite his desire to stay awake, Blair tended to drift off and sleep for long periods for the next few days. Jim, reassured that his partner was well on the way to recovery, felt comfortable leaving him to rest. The first time he left the hospital, he went home, showered and slept for twelve hours. When he got up, he called Orvelle and arranged to have Blair’s gear packed and moved back to the loft. He spent the rest of that evening with Blair but went back home to sleep. The next day, he went down to the PD.

Limping a little but no longer needing a cane, he greeted his colleagues and responded genially to their enthusiastic welcome and their questions about how Blair was doing. After reassuring them that his partner was doing great, he hesitated and then said, “I think you’ve all figured it out, but I want to say straight out that everything Sandburg wrote in his paper about me is true. I’ll get copies, so you can read it all for yourselves, okay?”

“Yeah, that’ll be just fine, Jim – but maybe only one copy,” Joel said on behalf of all of them. “Don’t want too many floating around, an’ we’ll give it back when we’re done.” Jim nodded and was touched that the others all just seemed grateful he was finally being straight with them. H even patted him companionably on the back, letting him know there were no hard feelings about him not sharing the truth long before.

Jim followed Joel into Simon’s office. “Anything more on what happened with CPU?” he asked, not wanting to linger on his disclosure. “And what’s the deal with the guys from Vice and Patrol over Friday night’s fiasco?”

“Formal reprimands and suspensions all round,” Joel told him. “IA is looking into everything and some might lose their jobs over it all.” He hesitated and then added with clear reluctance, “However, the latest twist on the press conference has got some riled up that they were never told the truth. They’re saying we should’a been straight with them and told them it was a scam from the beginning. A few are even getting high and mighty about how we shouldn’t’ve left Blair hanging, with nobody knowing why he did what he did.”

Jim’s mouth twisted as he sank into a chair. “Maybe they’ve got a point.”

Joel snorted and leaned forward on the desk. “Now don’t you go getting all bent outta shape. Maybe there will come a time to be more open about some stuff – but we shouldn’t just break under the pressure of opinion, here. There’re good reasons you and Blair kept things to yourselves. Damned good reasons.”

“Maybe so, but he carried the can for all of it,” Jim shot back.

“Publicly, maybe,” Joel agreed. “But it’s not been easy on you, either. An’ the kid has finessed it. I say we leave it alone for now. Regardless of what they knew or didn’t, the guys in Vice and Patrol were all out of line. Way out of line. As for the rest?” He shrugged. “Let it ride, at least until you, Blair, and Simon can talk it through. As it stands, we all got what we wanted. Blair’s name is cleared and he gets to come back here. In a crazy, sick way, even the shooting has helped that community – they’ve pulled together. Blair’s courage, and his getting hurt because of what he was doing for them, has made them find their own courage. They’re standing up against the Flames now.”

“I don’t know if we all got what we want,” Jim sighed, and stared out the window. “He’s great with those kids, Joel. You saw him down there. I’m not sure … I’m not sure that working here is what he really wants or if he’s just doing what he thinks I want.”

“Then you best ask him,” Joel returned evenly. “There’s been more than enough second-guessing and assumptions being made to last us all a lifetime. Ask him what he really wants, Jim. Just ask him.”

Jim nodded and stood to go but Joel asked, sounding unusually tentative, “Uh, probably none of my business, but did you talk to him about … you know?”

Jim relaxed as he smiled. “Yeah, I did.”

“And?”

“And you were right. Thanks.”

A wide grin split Joel’s face. Slapping his palm on the desk, he cheered softly, “All right!”

**

The days slipped past and Blair grew stronger. When the attorney from Rainier visited him in the hospital, he listened to what the man had to offer and then nodded. “I accept the settlement. And I’ll submit my real dissertation when I’m feeling up to an oral defense. I’ll get back to you about the possibility of a position on the faculty.”

Jim, leaning against the wall and listening to the discussion, waited until the lawyer left and then said, “I know you’ve told me that you were getting sick of the politics, Chief. But that was a good offer. You sure you don’t want to teach, maybe do more research?”

“I can do research without being on the faculty,” Blair replied with a small shrug. “And, yeah, I liked some of the teaching but marking papers and tests was a drag. I really don’t want to get pulled into all the territorial and ego crap that goes on again. Maybe a part-time gig, teaching a senior seminar or something. That might work.”

Jim nodded. “Whatever you want, Chief.” He left it at that, though he knew Joel was right. They needed to talk about what Blair would really want to do with his life, but he couldn’t seem to find the right way to lead into the discussion, even when it was presented on a silver platter. He guessed it was because he was still trying to decide himself if he really wanted to go back to the PD, after everything that had happened.

When Berkshire also tracked Blair down, Sandburg was a lot less civil. Jim listened as he told them in no uncertain terms that he was still considering filing charges against them and he had no interest, whatsoever, in ever doing business with them. Jim figured it was only a matter of time before they offered a settlement, too.

One day, restless and bored by his prolonged confinement, Blair irritably demanded to know why Jim wouldn’t take his side on being discharged early. “You were a medic, man. You can tell them you can look after me,” he insisted.

“Uh, uh,” Jim declined, shaking his head and crossing his arms. “You were very seriously injured, Chief. Hell, they had to take out your spleen. You’re not getting out of here until you’re officially pronounced fit to go.”

Vastly unimpressed, Blair snorted. And then, several thoughts flickered over his mobile features and he looked at Jim as if weighing him in some way. “God help me,” he muttered.

Frowning, Jim narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“The spleen – that has something to do with the immune system, right?” Blair confirmed.

“Uh huh, helps you fight infections. And you don’t have one now,” Jim told him heavily. “So you’re gonna have to be extra careful.”

Leaning back against his pillows, Blair gave a miniscule shake of his head as a small, close-lipped smile of bemusement grew on his face.

“Now what?”

“I can see it all now, man,” Blair replied with great solemnity, as if deeply concerned. “I’ll be eighty-five and you’ll be ninety-five, and I still won’t be allowed out of the loft without you bundling me all up. Wool hat on my head, warm mitts on my hands, and you tying a thick, woolen scarf around my neck, muttering, ‘Gotta keep warm, Chief. Don’t want to risk you getting sick, now, do we?’”

Jim pressed his lips together but couldn’t hold back the laugh. “Hell, Chief. That’s you _now_ \-- in July, let alone the middle of winter!”

Laughing softly, Blair nodded. “I know. But it’ll be fun to have you dress me up before I go out into the big, dangerous world.”

Grinning, Jim shook his head. “Ninety-five, huh?” When Blair nodded, still smiling, he said, “Works for me, Chief. Works for me.”

At long last, the day came when he could take Blair home from the hospital. Though Jim could have returned to active duty by then, he’d gotten vacation leave approved so that he’d be off until Blair was pronounced fit for work. Blair was a lot better than he’d been, but he still needed recovery time and the surgeon ordered him to take it easy for at least a month.

Not inclined to be fussed over, Blair insisted he felt fine as he climbed out of the truck, and was just damned glad to be home. But he hunched a little as he walked, belying his words, and Jim kept a steadying hand on his back as they made their way into the building.

Once they were inside the loft and Jim had helped him out of his jacket, Blair looked around, and a smile grew at the sight of his things once again in their places on the walls and bookshelf. “You moved everything back!”

“Orvelle helped, along with kids from the basketball team,” Jim told him. “I’m glad you don’t mind that I kinda usurped your right to discuss it with Orvelle personally.”

“Yeah, well, circumstances kinda got in the way of that,” Blair replied with a small laugh. Moving into the kitchen, he plugged in the kettle. When Jim followed and wrapped his arms around him from behind, Blair leaned into the embrace. “I take it that some of my stuff might not be where it used to be,” he murmured contentedly.

“Nope,” Jim agreed, nuzzling Blair’s neck. “Your clothes, favorite pillow, and laptop are upstairs.”

“Mmm,” Blair sighed as he turned and wrapped his arms around Jim’s waist. He lifted his head to meet Jim’s lips and they kissed, only breaking apart when the kettle began to whistle. “Want some tea?” he asked huskily. “Or I could make a pot of coffee?”

“I’d rather have you,” Jim replied with a seductive smile. “But I guess we still have to wait a bit for that,” he added, stepping back. “Don’t want to do any damage.”

Sighing, Blair turned to make his mug of tea. “This sucks, man,” he complained. “I want to jump your bones but I’m afraid I’d fall asleep right in the middle of the interesting stuff, you know? It’s the pits.”

“Yeah, well,” Jim grimaced and shrugged. He went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, and then followed Blair into the living room to sit down beside him on the sofa. “Jumping bones might have to wait, but …” he said, as he hooked an arm around Blair’s shoulders, “nothing says we can’t do a bit of necking, right?”

Grinning, Blair set down his tea and said, “Lay it on me, man. I am, like, _so_ ready to do some serious necking. Even a little groping.”

Not long after, Jim helped him up the stairs. There, he helped Blair undress and ease into the bed. After stripping quickly himself, he crawled in and slipped next to his partner, molding his body around Blair’s to hold him close. They touched and kissed languidly, reveling in the sensation of being skin to skin, but before the heat could build, Jim tucked Blair’s head against his shoulder. “Slow down, Chief. We’ve got lots of time. You’re faking a good game, but I can see you could use a nap.”

Laughing softly, Blair nodded against his skin. A moment later, his breathing deepened and evened out.

Jim smiled as he held Blair and thought how very glad he was to have Blair in his bed.

**

Blair got stronger with each succeeding day and he figured the sheer joy he felt was doing wonders for his healing process. Though he was a man who had always been inclined toward happiness, the last few months had worn him down, until he’d wondered if he’d ever be truly contented again. But now, he was happier than he’d ever dreamed it possible to be, fairly brimming over, and he made no effort to contain it. And he was delighted that Jim seemed just as blissful, and more relaxed than Blair could remember him ever being.

They didn’t do all that much. Hung around the apartment for the first couple days he was home. Went for walks after that, in the park or along the harbor front. When they passed the bench he’d been sitting on when Orvelle called, he took Jim’s hand and just held on, but wouldn’t say what had momentarily darkened his eyes when Jim asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, looking up with a slow smile. “Ancient history, man.”

Jim let it go and just drew him close into his side, anchoring him there with an arm around his shoulders.

And they spent a lot of time in bed, wrapped around one another. But however much Blair teased and even began to push for more, Jim held them both back. “Not yet,” he’d demur. “The dressings aren’t even off yet. You need more time to heal.”

Blair would sigh, but desist, content for the moment to feel Jim’s skin against his, to be able to kiss and touch to his heart’s satisfaction.

The day the dressings came off, he decided he’d waited long enough and made a determined effort to move past heavy petting. When Jim just laughed and wrestled him, albeit fairly gently, into submission, he huffed, “Okay, that’s it. I get it. We gotta be legal. Fine. I am so ready to go to Canada.”

Jim laughed so hard, Blair was afraid his partner might hurt himself. “Legal,” he spluttered, then burst out laughing again.

Blair got the distinct feeling he was missing something and demanded to know what was so funny.

“You are, Chief,” Jim finally managed to explain as he tweaked a curl. “When you were more than half out of it at the hospital, you were in quite a snit that _I_ had to have it legal, as if we couldn’t, uh, I think you said _consummate_ our relationship until it was.” But his laughter faded as his fingertips traced the planes of Blair’s face. “I don’t care about ‘legal’. I just don’t ever want to hurt you again.”

“Ah, Jim,” Blair sighed, his annoyance gone. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted to be with you, to make you feel so good. God, man, I want to make love so bad I’m ready to bust, you know? You’re driving me crazy, here.”

Jim bent to kiss him, and slid his hand along Blair’s body. “Me, too, Chief,” he whispered hoarsely. “Me, too.”

“So…?” Blair prompted, his own hand straying to clasp Jim firmly, and grinning impishly at the reaction he got.

“You sure?” Jim groaned, his hard-pressed ability to resist waning fast.

“Ooohhhh, yeah,” Blair assured him, and then eagerly set out to prove it.

**

Two days later, they loaded up the truck with their luggage and set off for the border. Blair was fairly bouncing in the seat, his smile radiant as he flicked through a travel guide and chattered about what they might do and where they might go. “Whistler looks really great,” he said, gazing at the photos of the mountains and the picture-postcard village. “But so does the Island,” he went on, riffling through the book to find Victoria. “What do you think?” he asked, looking across at Jim.

“Whatever turns your crank, Chief,” Jim replied, sounding preoccupied as he made the turn onto the highway.

Blair studied him and set the book aside. “You sure you want to do this?” he asked with a slight frown.

“Huh?” Jim’s eyes flickered as he played back the conversation, obviously not having paid close attention, and then nodded. “I’m the one who proposed, remember?”

“Um, actually, no,” Blair replied with a small grin. “I missed it.”

“You didn’t miss it,” Jim reminded him. “You just don’t remember. You told me it was too late.”

“I what?” he exclaimed. “No way.”

“Yep,” Jim said. “Scared the shit out of me. But then you explained that it was too late because we’d already been married for months.” Glancing at Blair, his eyes glinting with devilish humor, he went on, “That’s when you complained that we hadn’t consummated it and accused me of having to make it legal.”

“Oh, man, I hate it when drugs fog my memory,” Blair griped, but then, imagining the moments in question, he snickered. “Scared ya, huh?”

“Uh huh,” Jim grunted. “Finally worked up my nerve to come clean and you turned me down flat. Wasn’t pretty, Chief.”

Blair laughed. “Okay, okay, I get the picture. But if going to Canada isn’t what’s bothering you, what is? You were a million miles away, man.”

Sobering, Jim shrugged. “Well … I guess I’ve just been wondering … do you _really_ want to work for the PD? Carry a weapon, all that?” Before Blair could answer, he kept going, getting it all out now that he’d started. “I was thinking that, well, I enjoyed working at the Center, too. Maybe, maybe I should quit MCU. Maybe we could work at something we both could enjoy.”

“Quit?” Blair echoed, gaping at him. “You’d quit being a cop … for me?”

“I … I didn’t much like how you got treated, Chief,” Jim replied. “I don’t care how pissed off some of them were downtown. They treated you like shit. I don’t know … I don’t know if I want to be part of that.”

“Well, first of all, you’re not part of that; none of our friends were part of that,” Blair insisted firmly. “A few jerks don’t define the whole PD.”

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Jim grunted, his eyes on the road. “Maybe it’s time to consider a change. For both of us.”

Twisting in his seat, Blair faced him and shook his head. “Let’s sort some stuff out right now,” he stated. “First, I want to be your partner, in everything. Uh, you’re right that I’m not jumping at the bit to carry, but I’ll do it. And I will use a gun, if I have to – hell, I already have. More than once. I prefer peaceful solutions, Jim, but I’m not a fanatic about it. If someone’s shooting at us, I’m gonna shoot back.”

When Jim gave him a quick glance but didn’t say anything, Blair impatiently raked his hair back. “Jim, I love the work. Maybe not the, the bodies but I want to help get the ones who do that to people, kill them like that, hurt them. I like the puzzles, figuring out how the pieces fit. I like the feeling that what we do matters. So, if you’ve been thinking of quitting for me, don’t.”

“I liked working with the kids,” Jim persisted. “It was different, helping decent kids, not just dealing with the dregs all the damned time.”

“Yeah, well, I liked it, too,” Blair agreed, sitting back. “And we can still do that as volunteers, right?”

When Jim nodded thoughtfully, he went on, “You’re a sentinel, Jim. I know you have a love/hate relationship with that, but that _is_ what you are. And you’re _great_ at what you do. And I know you like getting the bad guys off the street even more than I do. You’re a protector. Do _not_ think you have to deny what you are for me.”

Grimacing, Jim argued, “But I do deny it, Chief. I deny what I am every damned day. I let you go through hell because I was so caught in denial.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about,” Blair said witheringly. “Guilt.”

“No!” Jim protested. When Blair just looked out the window, he sighed, pulled over and parked on the shoulder. “Well, maybe, partly,” he admitted, staring out the windshield. “Maybe it’s just time that I … that I admitted what I am.”

“No,” Blair muttered.

“But –”

“NO!” he said more forcibly as he again turned to face Jim. “Not until two conditions are met,” he added in a tone that brooked no argument.

When Jim lifted his brows and stared at him, Blair continued, “One: we have to be _absolutely_ sure that there is _no_ risk to you whatsoever in revealing your senses – and I suspect that won’t be the case until we retire.”

Jim’s lips twisted and his jaw tightened, but he didn’t dispute it. “And the second condition?” he asked dryly.

“You have to be able to say you’re a sentinel proudly, without any discomfort and absolutely no vestige of that damned certainty you carry around that you’re some kind of freak,” Blair stated. “The day you can admit – and really _mean_ it – that you are a miracle, a fucking, beautiful, amazing miracle, like _I_ know you are, then okay. But not until then, because I will _not_ have you somehow sacrificing your peace of mind and setting yourself up for all kinds of grief, just because you think that would make me happy. It wouldn’t. You got that?”

Glancing away, swallowing hard, Jim swiped at his nose and sniffed. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Fine,” Blair snapped, sitting back and crossing his arms. After a moment, he reached again for the guide book, muttering under his breath, “Freak. The man still thinks he’s a freak. Right. Man’s a fucking Greek god with senses I’d kill for but no, he thinks he’s a freak. Shit.”

Jim’s mouth twitched and he shook his head. “Greek god?”

“Well, yeah, have you looked in a mirror lately? Adonis had nothing on you, pal,” Blair growled.

“Miracle?”

“Yep. An amazing, wondrous, incredible miracle of being, the best humanity could ever aspire to be,” Blair continued to mutter, flipping through the pages.

Jim looked over at him and his voice was gentle as he said, “When I’m with you, I can almost begin to believe all that. You … you make me feel like a miracle, Chief.”

Blair’s hands stilled and he drew a deep breath. Lifting his head, he met Jim’s eyes. “Yeah? Well, good. Because I wouldn’t even _be_ here, man, if you hadn’t brought me back. You … you have such power, Jim. Such amazing gifts. And your soul … your soul is magnificent. I wish, I wish so bad, that you could see yourself as I see you.”

Jim gazed at him, his expression nakedly vulnerable, all the defenses that held all the hurts at bay stripped away. Mutely, he unsnapped his seatbelt and slid across the bench to embrace Blair hard, as if he’d never let go. Kissing him over and over, almost frantically, he rasped, “Don’t ever stop loving me, Chief. God, please, don’t ever stop loving me.”

“I won’t,” Blair vowed, kissing him right back and then holding him, just holding him, until Jim stopped shaking. He pressed his lips against Jim’s brow, and then asked, “Okay, now?”

“Yeah,” Jim replied, drawing away, and then scrubbing his face. Leaning back against the headrest, he sighed. “I hate feeling like a freak.”

“I know.” Blair settled his head against Jim’s shoulder. “I think it’s just hard for you to think of yourself as special,” he mused. “And I know the senses aren’t always easy; are sometimes downright irritating. So that tends to reinforce that they’re a problem, not a gift. But we’ll keep working on them. I promise, Jim. The day _will_ come when you will feel really good about who you are, even grateful.”

Jim thought about everything Blair had said. And then he sat up, his face creased with concentration. “I’m grateful now,” he exclaimed in awe, as if it was a sudden revelation. Turning to Blair, cupping his cheek, he repeated, “I’m grateful right now. If I wasn’t a sentinel, I wouldn’t have met you. Wouldn’t have been able to bring you back. Would have l-lost you. How can I not be grateful for all that?”

Smiling, Blair kissed Jim’s palm. “That’s a start, man. You just keep feeling that way,” he said tenderly. Tilting his head, he asked, “So, you ready to hit the road again?”

“Yeah,” Jim grinned and kissed him quickly before sliding back behind the wheel. “Let’s go.”

When they got to the border fifteen minutes later, they passed across their ID. Then the Canadian border official asked, “Purpose of your visit?”

“Honeymoon,” Jim told him without missing a beat.

Blair’s brows rose under his curls, and he grinned widely as the guard returned their IDs with a smile. “Congratulations, gentlemen. Have a great time.”

As they pulled away, Blair reached over to lay his hand on Jim’s thigh. “So, when’re you gonna ask?” he enquired, his tones warm with anticipation.

“Ask?”

“You said you’d ask me again, when I was feeling better,” Blair reminded him. “If we’re going on our honeymoon, we’re almost out of time for the question.”

Dropping a hand from the steering wheel to curl around Blair’s fingers, Jim asked, “Blair Sandburg, will you marry me?”

“Too late,” Blair quipped, and Jim swatted at him. But Blair grabbed his hand and held on. Raising Jim’s fingers to his lips, kissing them lingeringly, he avowed, “I gave you my soul months ago, Jim Ellison, and it’s yours for all time. This, my man,” he went on, waving at Canada, “this is just a formality.” Kissing Jim’s fingers again, he murmured, “I love you, Jim. And we are _so_ married.”

Once again, Jim wheeled to the side of the road. Taking Blair into his arms, their kiss was deep, full of passion. Blair drew away, just enough to say, “Would you quit fooling around, man? We need to find us a hotel room – and I mean _real_ soon. We got a honeymoon to celebrate!”

Laughing, Jim tugged at his hair, and then slid back behind the wheel. “I don’t know,” he teased, trying his best to sound serious. “I think we should find a Justice of the Peace first.”

Groaning, Blair slid down in his seat. “Legal. The man just _has_ to make it legal.”

“Well, I’m a cop, Sandburg. Legal is what we do,” he quipped.

Smiling blissfully, Blair shook his head. “Okay, yes, I’ll marry you. Happy now? Can we just go and do it, and find a hotel room?”

Chuckling, Jim nodded and pulled back into the traffic. “Very happy now,” he asserted. “Love you, too … Munchkin.”

Blair roared with laughter. “Munchkin?” he spluttered. “Oh, you are gonna so pay for that.”

“Counting on it, Chief,” Jim replied with a grin, a knowing glance at Blair’s groin, and a wicked wink. “ _Really_ counting on paying dearly for it.”

Snickering, Blair bargained, “How about we find a hotel room and then, later, _much_ later, find a J.P.?”

“Sounds like a plan, Chief,” Jim nodded, smiling broadly. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

 _Finis_


End file.
